Loving Hate
by Era-Age
Summary: He had thought that she would stay with him, that they'd start their own family. However, that was all to be mistaken, for she left. Now the two of them are forced to confront each other as well as new enemies. Violence, lemons, and language, Altair/Maria
1. Chapter 1

How long had it been since their last 'encounter'?

Eight months?

Nine months?

Altair lowered his head and sighed. He was seated at what was once Al Mualim's study, but now his. His allies, the Assassins, had chosen him as the new Leader of their Order and tasked him with the responsibility of rebuilding the former glory their Brotherhood once possessed. The burden of his duty to his people never ceased upon his shoulders; the weight of his decisions and actions only continued to build upon him.

He looked over his shoulder at the great window behind him. It provided him with a view of his entire city.

Masyaf, home and tomb of the Assassins. It was this beautiful yet dead town that he protected with his life. He couldn't comprehend how much he'd sacrifice for this city. But then he'd be pestered by those niggling thoughts of 'what _haven't _you done for Masyaf?'

Altair looked back at the paperwork he had been examining. One of their spies from Damascus was once again sending word that there wasn't any suspicious cruelty taking place. And once again, he was replying with his ever so usual, 'Very well, Brother, keep me informed if there is any change in the circumstances. Safety and peace.'

It irritated him. The fact that something irritated him irritated him, even. Yes, his heart was content and currently at peace, knowing that the Templars and their corrupt attempts at world domination were gradually decreasing. The pesky threats that they _loved_ to send to the Assassins were becoming more and more of a weak attempt to earn some attention.

_Un_wanted attention. He should have been uplifted by the knowledge that the Cross' order was becoming nothing more than a group of squabbling mercenaries, but again, the more rational part of his mind questioned this. Why would the Templars try to seek the Master of the Hashshashin's merciless stare? Why would—

"Altair?" The heavy, raspy voice pierced Altair out of his thoughts. Never moving his head from the parchment, Altair raised his eyes to the intruder of the safety of his mind. It wasn't _his _fault, though. It was Altair himself that had placed him in charge of such disturbances. Disturbances that he needed more and more often, now that the thought of—

"What is it?" A hint of temper escaped the Master's lips. He had no desire to be disturbed, but it was necessary. _So, oh so necessary..._

"Altair, it's your horse again. The beast won't stop kicking at his stall!" Malik sighed and slouched his shoulders when the man's response was to blink his eyes and wear the expression that read, 'Did you honestly interrupt me from my blissful thoughts to complain to me about a damn _horse?_'

Grunting, he merely looked at Malik. His job was to keep his people safe. His job was to deem what man should fall by an Assassin's blade. His job was _not _to worry about his horse. "I believe there are stall hands for such matters, Malik." He removed his gaze from the one-armed man and diverted his attention back to his papers. He wanted Malik to leave that very moment. He wanted to return to his brooding and sulking in his mind over—

Throwing his arm into the air, he exclaimed, "If you just paid it a visit now and then, we wouldn't have this problem! But, _no!_ You simply choose to be closed off in this... this..." He motioned his hand to the books collecting dust on the many shelves of the study, his eyes gleaming with disapproval at the novels littering the floor. "_This!_ Altair, these antics are becoming more ridiculous by each passing day, now. Go and see the horse before it breaks down the stalls just for some attention from his—"

"_His what?_" Venom escaped Altair's throat at his eyes narrowed at his ally, daring him to finish his rambling. He didn't want to hear his damn complaining. Just throw some hay in the stall and his troublesome horse should be happy once the beast learned food had been 'awarded' to it.

Taking a deep breath that he did not release, he looked at Altair with steel darts protruding out of his eyes. Malik angled his head to the ceiling so that it forced the Master to look up at him. With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he simply walked away from Altair and began his descent of the stairwell.

Sighing in relief from the absence of his presence, Altair drooped his head over his shoulders, his hands rubbing at his face in frustration. He had to finish writing his letter to the spy. He had to check up on his blasted horse. The thought annoyed him. The scheming stable hands were probably causing the horse to throw such ill-behaved acts just so that the people could witness Altair as he came to the rescue to save his darling horse from such peril.

The image caused his thumb and forefinger to find his temples on either side of his face and rub in a soothing, circular motion. Still, he had to admit to himself, for him to do such a thing would be... _amusing_, to some extent. No doubt Malik would be satisfied. The fool was always trying to make Altair 'open up to the public'. A leader should _not_ show such banter to his people. A _leader_ must be strong and willing to sacrifice anything for his people.

Taking a quill and a small vial of ink from his desk, he began to pen his response. How sloppy his handwriting had become! Maybe Malik was right. Maybe he _was_ spending too much time in this study brooding over the loss of—

"_HIS GOOD FOR NOTHING, ASSHOLE OF A MASTER!"_

The sudden sound made Altair jump out of his seat, bumping his desk in the process, causing the ink to spill onto his papers. _Damn._ Several shouts from the guards at the base of the fortress were heard echoing throughout the hallway, much to Altair's dismay. He wanted silence at the moment. He wanted silence so that he could just think. He wanted to think things through. He needed to know where his place was with her.

'_So much to do...'_

* * *

Damiel lied sprawled out across the rooftop of the church, eyes closed, listening to the soft patter of rain and the preaching taking place inside with a numb mind. He exhaled as he contented himself with being a bystander. He had no intentions of sitting on an uncomfortable bench just to hear some old, bald man in fancy, elaborate robes give his opinions of God.

What _was_ God anyway? He had wondered this most of his life. The old bald men said that He is a divine being that humans are _re_united with when they die. Reunited? How could people believe that? Damiel could not remember ever meeting this "divine being" in his whole life. When was there any proof in his life that a God even existed?

Never. What gave these robed elderly men the right to say such things? What made them so special and connected to this Holy Lord? Sometimes he thought that priests were too busy sticking their heads further up their behinds to even listen to what they said.

'_Nothing,'_ he thought to himself. He opened his eyes and smirked at the stars above. _'You watchin' me, O' Great One? Well, want to know what I have to say to you?'_ He shrugged one of his arms toward the sky so that his hand was raised with his palm facing himself. He curled his fingers, except his middle finger, into a fist. He chuckled to himself and folded his hands behind his head, completely smug and undisturbed. _There was no God._

The shuffling of feet coming from the church made him rise slowly from his current position. He stretched his arms out, then his legs, and moved both hands to his back and pushed in with them. There was a satisfying _pop!_ as his bones cracked from being in the same position for so long. Running his fingers through his hair, he shook his head free of water droplets.

He strolled across the rooftop, careful not to slip on the wet tiles. These nights were becoming more and more common; the damp humidity was too familiar to the boy. Drizzles would sprinkle across the English countryside, accompanied by the duet of thunder and lightning.

He didn't mind so much; if anything, the rain would wash away the piss and turds in London's streets.

Damiel glanced about, idly noting that only a few of the houses and towers surrounding the church still had their candles lit. He sniffed the air, smiling when he caught a whiff of baking bread. The bakeries must have reopened for the Christians strolling out from their church. He'd have to snatch a loaf or two later.

The people clad in decent, modest clothing left the House of God, conversing with one another of what they were to do when they arrived home.

"She needs me to wash it for her."

"Did you hear about Jane?"

"Tomorrow, I plan on buying some eggs."

"The brat of a girl doesn't even know how to clean her own clothes."

"Didn't she fall?"

"Why would he do something like that?"

His eyes searched through the crowd for the reason he even bothered to come to this disgusting church. A smile slowly crept onto his lips as he found her. Her long, beautiful, golden blonde hair cascaded down her slender yet wickedly gorgeous shoulders. There, these delicious locks rose as they slid their way onto her luscious mounds of flesh hidden beneath her ever prudent dress, teasing and daring any man who risked casting one look her way.

"Hildegard," he murmured. He made his way over to the other side of the rooftop of the church and leaned himself over the edge. He twisted backward and began to climb down the wall.

"... And she was saying that it wasn't _possibly _her fault that the blanket was ripped—err, Lady Hildegard? Is something wrong?"

The beauty kept her gaze at the church wall. She could have sworn she saw something there... "Oh? Oh, I'm sorry, Richard, I... I have some business to attend to." She gave her nod to the man called Richard, who was her escort this evening. She gently picked her dress up on either side of her and walked hastily away from him. '_What an annoying little man._'

Damiel had his back to the church wall, arms crossed over his chest, his head down. There was just a lovely shadow being cast over his location, many thanks to the moon for that. He lifted his head as he saw the woman making her way to the side of the church he was at. Stepping out of his shadow so that she could make him out, he gave a boyish smirk her way. '_Don't make this difficult for me, Hildy.'_

As their eyes connected, he turned his back to her and made his way farther away from her. He knew that being seen with her was dangerous. Anyone who made contact with one from the Rose would be wise to pack their bags immediately and leave London.

Just as planned, Hildegard followed him through the slender corridor. She narrowed her eyes at the boy. '_What on Earth does he want from me this time?' _She stepped over loose brick on the ground and walked around puddles of sickening color. The moonlight wasn't offering her any help in finding her way to Damiel, so she was somewhat startled when she walked into his back. Grabbing her arm, he lightly threw her against the wall of the church and leaned next to her. She looked expectantly at him.

"Well?"

"She hasn't come out for weeks, Hildy. I'm starting to get worried." Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he looked past Hildegard to the busy street of London. People were coming out now to chat amongst each other.

"That's nothing new, Damiel. I thought you were used to her being silent?"

"That's not the point, Hildegard." Sighing, he wiped imaginary sweat off of his forehead. "She won't even let Benny talk to her—she hasn't eaten anything either."

"Has she had anything to drink?" Hildegard frowned, her beautiful face tainted with lines of worry for her friend.

"No."

"She's still devastated then. Who can blame her, Damiel? She—"

"Hildy. That was a year ago. Over and done with. Can't she just-"

"No, Damiel, you don't understand how a woman feels about things like this. I'm sure she feels…" She waved her hand, struggling to conjure up an appropriate word.

Folding his arms again, Damiel mimicked his friend's frown. "Feels what?"

"Exposed, used... _Dirty..._" Hildegard shuddered at the thought. She knew that feeling all too well.

"Then let's find the man. Let's find him, and run him through. I'm sure she'll be happy then."

"Running him through would kill her. She still loves him, Damiel."

"He hasn't replied to a single one of her letters. And all the trouble we go through to make sure they're delivered..!" Turning his head left and right, the boy made sure that no one heard his sudden rise in volume. As if making up for his turn in volume, Hildegard's voice was soft as down feathers.

"We can't force her to feel anything, Damiel." A lump started forming in her throat. Swallowing it back, she shook her head as if to convince herself that there was nothing the two of them could do. "Only time can heal something like this." She watched him closely, vaguely making out his face in the darkness of the night. What she could see was an impatient, thin-lipped expression on his usually carefree face.

"Yeah, well, I'm tired of hearing her sobs in the middle of the night. I'm tired of hearing her scream his name over and over again. And I'm tired of her saying that nothing's wrong when _Hell, something is wrong._"

"Damiel," Hildegard sighed. She placed a comforting hand on his arm and smiled weakly. "Go back to her. You may not know it, but just having you there by her side while she's suffering is helping her. She needs you—you _and_ Benjamin to be there for her."

"_What she needs is for that damned man to come back, get on his hands and knees, and beg for her forgiveness,_" he hissed irately at Hildegard, but immediately regretted it. She did nothing to him. He wished to see this bastard man himself and introduce him to his spear. Head first.

Saying her farewell to her friend, Hildegard stepped lightly from the side of the church back into the busy streets of society. Although it was almost midnight, there were still people out. This was common in London. It was beautiful, exciting, romantic, and dangerously seducing. There were many secrets in this city that even the Assassin's did not know about. Secrets that the Templar's were dying to get their hands onto.

* * *

Benjamin paced back and forth through the gloomy corridor in the long abandoned chapel of Saint Mary. Not that the people had anything against Saint Mary—they _were _Christians, after all—but a new chapel had been built to honor her heavenly being. This church had not seen people walk its halls until almost two years ago. It was a sacred place, a place where the Templar's were even afraid to set foot. It granted the Order of the Rose protection from their corruption.

Benjamin was an Englishman, same as all the others living in London. His fair skin had vague traces of discolored patches where the sun was not in his favor. He was a veteran; he fought alongside Crusaders nearly for two decades, his loyalty and oaths never turning false. Benjamin Mills was a legend among the soldiers. Rumors had it that he faced twenty men all at the same time—not one of them harming him as he slaughtered each one of them, eager to please his commander. Unfortunately for him, due to overconfidence from being boasted of so heroically, it had cost the ex-soldier an eye. He now wore a cloth that diagonally ran across his face, covering his left eye, tied securely in the back. Those were the good old days for Benjamin, when he was still young and had his looks.

Oh, yes, he had truly been one for the ladies, but like most boys, eventually calmed and settled down. His beautiful wife, Rosaline, blessed his soul with four healthy, handsome sons that were now grown and taking their lives into their own hands. Unfortunately, Rosaline had past away several years ago when a deadly illness had hit home.

Hands clasped behind his back, he made his rounds back and forth in front of her closed door. Should he knock? No, she'd just tell him to go away. Should he try telling her one of his battle stories? Well, he would, only he had told her all of them. Should he—

"Ahh, Hell with it, Benjamin, boy," he said quietly to himself. "She needs time alone—" His haggard voice cut off as he coughed and cleared his throat. His aging was showing with every step that he took. He used to have a spring to his step. He used to be able to run for hours without tiring. He used to be able to hold his own during combat. But, now, he relied on her and Damiel to protect him when danger approached. He hated it. Although, there was nothing he could do about changing time. It was completely out of his hands. But oh, what he would give to be young again!

Scratching his stubble across his chin and jawline with his rough, calloused and dry hands as he paced, he began thinking of options. What _should_ he do? It seemed she'd been locked in her room for millennium. His dirty blonde hair that used to be a bright, cheerful blonde, slight wrinkles, and dull blue eyes told the tale of how much agony he'd been through lately. He had enough to deal with: the Templar's were already hot on their trail, and now this. He wished Damiel was there with him. The boy was like a fifth son to him, and they always found comfort in each other's humor and friendship. But he had gone hunting down Hildegard, leaving him the babysitter of this heartbroken woman.

Damiel didn't even think she should feel anything. Still, Damiel was only nine and ten years old, barely a man yet. Yes, Damiel was tall, he was strong, he was muscular, he had a peculiar olive skin tone that was none too common amongst English folk. Damiel was a man on the outside, but not in the inside. He was still that troublesome teenager that loved causing mayhem, chasing girls, and thinking himself greater than everyone else.

The veteran had to admit that his skills with a spear were unlike anything he had ever seen before. He had never seen so many heads taken off with a single swipe with a weapon. The thought frightened yet comforted the old man. It was good to have a man like him on _their_ side, and not the Templars'.

_'Damiel will understand these things one day.'_ He hoped. Benjamin knew how she felt. He knew how violated and unloved and empty she must feel. He knew because he had healed Hildegard's wounds that had the same symptoms as hers. Only, _she_ wasn't letting anyone near her wounds. The sound of quiet sobs made him lift his head to gaze mournfully at her door. He wanted to go in there. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. He wanted to tell her that she was worth so much more than that... _that..._

* * *

A year. Altair realized it had been a year.

The Master stared at the water, the steam welcoming him into the tub, as if it were beckoning him with invisible hands.

_Beckoning him... like she did that night..._

He hoped she was doing well. Business at Masyaf kept him from seeing her. What of his letters, though? He had sent many of them, and not one of them did she ever write back. The thought made his teeth clench together. Was she teasing him?

Lowering himself into the water, he leaned back against the tub and sighed. It felt refreshing to be allowed one moment of peace and quiet. At least, partly peace and quiet. Whenever his mind was not busy with Assassin business, she would always come creeping up into his brain. His mind told him to forget about her. His heart told him to find her and love her and make her his again.

Altair closed his eyes and tried to bring her image to his head. It was difficult at first, and for a moment he feared he'd forgotten her features.

But he had luck on his side.

She had a strong jaw, determination etched into her very flesh. Her skin was light—light as the moonlight itself, except her cheeks. They weren't exactly pronounced, yet they weren't non-existing. They were... _perfect_. Perfect and a beautiful, natural light pink. Her chin was angular yet rounded all at the same time, a slight curve making out the end of it. Above her chin rested her lips.

_How much he craved those lips._

She had a thin upper lip with a lower lip that made up for the loss of flesh. Whenever she smiled—not counting her provoking smirks—it brought a blanket of warmth over his heart and invaded his thoughts with romantic nothings.

The woman's eyebrows neatly decorated the ridges above her eyes. They were thick from the inside, and thinned out when they expanded their length in a calm arc halfway to her temples. Her nose wasn't tiny and snooty either. It was normal, with a slight point to the tip of it. It sloped so that it was visible where her forehead and nose met, but not visible in a way that screamed to take your eyes off of it.

_And her eyes..._

Altair smiled, the image becoming clearer and clearer. _Her eyes were a deep shade of grey. One would mistake them for a deep shade of blue, but he was so close to her that night that he could perfectly see the difference of colors._

She had a beautiful mane that had its own personality, to say the least. Mainly, he had seen her with it tied up in a bun on top of her head. Rarely did she ever let her hair fall free from the hellish bonds that held it high above her shoulders, restricting her beauty from flowing down and gracing herself even more. _But when she did wear her hair down..._

It was so dark a color. Altair had seen many, many dark haired women in the Holy Land, but none like this. Their hair was always a deep brown or dull shade of black. He thought black was just black before he saw her locks. They were so deep a black that when the moon reflected its beauty onto it, it almost had a midnight blue shimmer to it. And when the sun decided to sprinkle its purity onto her, it would shine so gorgeously that all the Assassin wanted to do was to hold her tight and breathe in those wavy, silken strands that cascaded down her strong yet thin neck, down her shoulders that had triumph written all over them, and finally resting just above her breasts in neat, looping curls.

Thinking of her this way made him feel that she was with him. He felt her hands cradling his cheeks, lightly kissing his lips. _She was there. _

Removing himself from the tub, he dried himself off and, without bothering to change into clothes suitable for sleeping, tumbled into bed, never opening his eyes from her image embedded into his thoughts.

_She was there. She was snuggled up next to him, completely nude, her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against him._ Smiling from the thought of her being with him, Altair stretched his arm out, then curled it back, as if he was holding her closer to him. _He could feel her stomach rise and fall from breathing with his hand on her waist. He could feel her bare, exposed breasts resting their soft ample beings on his side._

Sleep claimed him within moments. But, however satisfying his fantasy might have seemed, he knew deep down that when morning came, his moment alone with her would vanish like the wind.

_It had been a year since he and Maria Thorpe had made love._


	2. Chapter 2

Damiel fumed in his mind over Maria's lover. What kind of man would make love to his woman and then leave her for a year, never sending word of how he's doing? It made no sense to Damiel. It made no sense to him how Maria could still love such a monster. Monsters such as _him_ shouldn't even be allowed to make love. No, they should do what their kind does best: stay hidden in a dark corner.

'_What man does that to begin with? Does the bastard not have honor?'_

Though the boy remained miffed with that terrible Assassin, Damiel could not help to be annoyed with Maria. For nine months, she had been acting very strong around Benjamin, Hildegard, and himself, but that was only when she was in public. Come night time, when she would go to bed _alone_, he would hear her staggered breathing and cries of solitude. For the other three months that made up the year, she made it visibly clear to her friends that she was suffering from his absence.

It was not his place to tell her to leave the past behind and look to the future, though. She had been, after all, Robert's second in command, and he just a low soldier that she found talent in. How she had ever seen such potential in a slaveboy, he would never know. But he was glad. Because of her open heart and creative mind, he had been allowed to dine with superiors once in a while, and _Hell, their food was so much better than a sacrificial soldier's._

But he couldn't mask his worry for her with his usual bluntness and expectant attitude. Since she had taken him under her wing in the Crusades, she had been like an older sister to him, and it was only natural for a little brother to be worried about his family in their time of need. Maria used to be so strong and had a sharp tongue. True, she was still strong _physically_, but he was afraid that her will had died over the year. He barely saw her the last three weeks because she found more comfort from the walls confining her inside of her room instead of her friends willing to hold her and heal her wounds.

He made up his mind: he hated that man. He hated him with his whole being. He wanted to chop him up into tiny, chewable pieces so that he could spit him over a cliff.

_'One day, you heartless scum, you'll pay dearly for what you did to her. Mark my words, if I must be the one to deliver the punishment, I will.'_

The nine and ten year old boy walked idly in the busy markets of London. The streets were lined with such architecture different than that of Syria. It resembled that dull and gloomy city, Acre, fairly well. Though, London wasn't literally falling to pieces.

He overheard dull conversations of merchants trying to bribe their customers with their seductive prices to purchase their wares, the sound of their desperate voices causing him to frown in disapproval. He carried on his stroll, a face of stone plastered onto him as shopkeepers waved him over to their stalls, ushering him to buy one of their goods. '_Try selling something _useful_, and maybe you'd get a customer..'_

He continued to walk until a scuffling sound caught his attention. The footsteps retreated when he stopped still in his tracks and made his way casually to a stall, feigning interest in a trinket. The footsteps gathered themselves up in a smoother strut. Damiel appeared to be listening to a merchant ramble on about the item he held in his hand, but paid more attention to whoever was putting so much effort into following him.

Barely turning his head to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer, he managed to make out a man clothed in armor with a-

'_Lord of all cow droppings and flies!' _Putting the item back on the counter, he shook his head at the merchant, making it clear he was no longer 'interested'. Turning away from the stall, he made his way quickly through the crowd without fully breaking into a run. The other man kept up with him nicely. Damiel knew that he could not stay. If he did, a fight would be in order and he doubted the people would be such kind spectators to keep their babbling mouths quiet. He looked on ahead, noticing that the busy swarm of consumers thinning out further on. Cursing under his breath, he broke out of the partial safety of the mob surrounding him and leapt out into a sprint away from the man.

_How did the Templar find him?_

_

* * *

_

Deep under the structure of St. John's Chapel, the work of evil was brewing with each passing minute. Common knowledge taught men that power cannot be destroyed; it is only passed down from one form of leadership to another. Thus saying, when Altair killed the nine Templar's that Al Mualim had commanded him to, life was destroyed, though not the awesome energy that cycled on and on.

Nine Templars had taken the place of those that have fallen before them. Nine more threats to the world, and after them, nine more would rise and take action. The work of an Assassin was never done in times like those.

Out of the nine new members of the Templar faction, only five were present, the others tending to other matters. The meeting had called for _all_ of them to be there, but of course, something far more important just _had_ to interfere with their plans. Under the church, secret tunnels had been constructed by forefathers of the Templar's. The tunnels lead to chambers suitable for living, dining, and conversing. It was as if it was an underground fortress- one that they would keep secret if it meant their lives taken from them.

The men were seated at a large wooden table that was a rectangular shape with a large cross bordered with carved vines closing around it in the middle of the table. Each member present had either a look of disgust, disappointment, or a blank expression worn on their faces. Who could blame them, though? Their topic of conversation was not something they would like to remember. After all, a _traitor_ was not something common amongst the Templar's.

"This cannot go on further. First, she turns her back on Robert and tells the Assassin _exactly_ where he's going and what his plans were." A man with fair hair said, smooth and manicured hands placed neatly, if not arrogantly, in his lap.

"Then, she runs off to Limassol with him," another said with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, nearly compressing himself together with the force. He was a rather grumpy man to begin with.

"Next, she ends up killing one of our own." Yet again, a different Templar voiced his opinion with fidgety eyes darting around the room, looking at his allies.

"And to surprise us even further, she ends up becoming the Assassin's whore." A grim expression was etched into this Templar's face. He was not overly fond of Assassins, but yet he did not force himself to hate them as the others did. They were men, just like them, who had a belief in something. However, he was disappointed in Maria, a woman who had shown so much promise to the Templar's cause, because she had betrayed them.

Grunting, a man with obvious authority rose from his seat and folded his hands neatly behind his back. They all knew the treachery she had done to each of them. They all knew the summary, why say it again? "If you four are finished," a husky sound escaped from his lips, "then I suggest we decide what to do with her, not contemplate on everything she has done."

The men looked at each other nervously. They did not want to anger their commander any further; he was not a man to be trifled with. He was as unpredictable as a cornered wolf.

The light haired Templar spoke up first in a hushed voice. "Perhaps we could persuade her to become one of us again.."

Disagreeing, another man spat at him, "Oh, _really?_ Just so that she can cause further harm to our organization? In case you have forgotten, Clarence, we're trying to _be rid of her_, not _gain her back_."

The man by the name of Clarence looked dully at the other. _Such ignorance.._ "Your ears only hear, not listen, Brother." He stood from the table, running his hand along the edge while he walked the perimeter of it. " We all know the corruption she had brought us. We all know how much we had suffered. But, suggest the tables would turn."

Gaining the attention of all others present, he smiled thinly and continued on. "She has much wealth due to her father, and much authority, to say the least. She has assisted in commanding armies, she knows how to plan strategies, and she knows how to play the innocent housewife when need be. Say she were to join us again-"

"Where are you going with this, Clarence? Are you saying that if she were to _re_join us, we'd benefit from it?" The leader frowned at Clarence, the venomous look unnerving the fair haired man slightly.

"My Lord, I am saying that _yes, we can benefit from her_. True, it would be difficult getting her back, but if we did..." Taking a deep breath, almost foreseeing the arguments that would erupt from his words, he carefully said, "Then she could easily infiltrate Masyaf, as she has connections with the Assassin's, especially the one that slaughtered Robert, and gain information for us."

The others looked at him shocked. The thought had occurred to them before, but they never had the nerve to voice it. But then again, it was _Clarence_, a rather straight-forward member. He was always boisterous and outspoken—always so talented at talking his way out of death.

Clearing his throat, the superior motioned for the man to sit back down. Clarence smiled gracefully and did as ordered. The leader paced back and forth across the width of the table, the others looking down at their laps in deep thought. He scratched his chin and rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to respond to the other's words.

After several moments, he finally questioned him. "And... how do you propose we accomplish this?" The others looked at their leader as if he were mad. _What was he thinking?_

Smiling from his achievement, Clarence continued on, "I know it seems rash and disturbing, but.." He again thought his words out with much care. "... My father and hers had a mutual friendship back in the day. It would be easy to.. ahh.. take advantage of that friendship."

"What are you saying?" The fidgety Templar looked at Clarence with terrified eyes.

"I'm saying we're to be wed, of course." He leisurely took a sip from his goblet of wine. "It would look very natural to citizens of London, would it not? Everyone knows how much my father wanted me to be her man, and likewise with her father." Looking at the leader, who showed a look of encouragement on his face, Clarence smiled further and looked eagerly at the other men, his excitement showing clearly. "With her at my side, I can easily keep a tight leash on the bitch and make sure she was never to betray us again. With our wealth combined, we can train more soldiers, purchase more horses, expand our territory, and thus, wipe out the Assassin's. Furthermore-"

Raising his hand to silence his ally, the superior closed his eyes and thought out his strategy. _Marry her? Inherit her money? Inherit her power?_ The idea caused a sly grin to creep up on his lips. He liked the plan. "Please, continue."

Sighing from relief, he pressed on. "Furthermore, her actions of treachery can be punished daily, if need be." He stood up abruptly from his seat, the smile escaping from his mouth and a rock hard expression gazed at each man seated. "That way, each of your morbid desires would be satisfied with her punishment and we would become the most powerful group of people in this world. And even in the next, perhaps," he mused.

His words had a stunning effect on others present. They looked thoughtfully at each other, at their leader, and then at Clarence.

The unhappy and grumpy Templar spoke up first from their temporary petrification. "And of the Assassin? Maria was his whore. What if he-"

"If she _was_ a whore, Earl, then she means nothing to him, as do all women who find a living off of selling their flesh. The man probably has a woman in every city waiting for his touch." Clarence laughed at the thought, shaking his head from the ill-spirited Templar, Earl.

"How do we know if he won't pursue us? What if she was his favorite?" The timid one looked at Clarence with eyes bulging out of his head. The man was terrified of the Assassins, but he knew how to hold his own in combat, surprisingly. Although, he did not like battle. He was a negotiator, and sometimes a coward.

"A man who inserts his shaft inside a _bitch_'s secret cavern without the smallest trace of love behind his actions harvests no thoughts of such things, Tyler." The leader said quietly to his comrade, nodding his head at Clarence. "How do you propose we separate her from her allies? After all, she has the Rose surrounding her at all times, protecting her from us."

Chewing the inside of his lip, Clarence thought over it. Was it really so hard to catch them off guard? Sighing, he shook his head. "I propose-" the sudden knocking of wood interrupted him from finishing his thought. All five men turned their head simultaneously at the robed figure at the entrance to their meeting room.

A high pitched, terrified voice sounded from the man. "Ah.. M-Master Clarence? If I may.."

Making his way toward his squire, he exited the meeting room. Waiting several moments before continuing on, the other four templars burst out with arguments.

"Maria is not an easy woman, My Lord! It is IMPOSSIBLE to capture her!"

"The Assassin _will_ come for her, I assure you! Not yet do I have a wife, but I know passion when I see it!"

"Clarence only wants an easy target! The man's been driven _mad _with his lust for revenge—"

"SILENCE!" The leader threw his hands down on the table and shook his head at each man. "His plan is not well thought-out, obviously. But do any of you have any better suggestions?" When the room turned silent, he hissed, "No? Well, then we just need to figure out a way to find-"

Walking back into the meeting room with a smirk on, Clarence said charmingly to his comrades, "My apologies, friends. It seems that something has popped up, which acquires my full attention. Please, excuse me, we will have to finish this discussion later." He gave a small bow to the others who frowned at him suspiciously, and then turned his back on them, leaving the room, followed by a shaking squire.

Earl growled and shook his head, once again compressing himself with his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Now that that _charming_ subject is gone, I propose we discuss the Piece of Eden."

All the men looked nervously down at their laps again, including the leader. They knew their failure: they had lost the Piece to an Assassin.

"I belive Maria has it.." Tyler, the nervous one, said with a quivering voice. The others looked at him with complex expressions, pondering his words.

Without thinking, Earl snorted. "Don't tell me you too are indulged in having this woman?"

Gawking at him, clearly appalled, Tyler defended his dignity. "For you to say such a thing, my dear Earl, may seem that _you_ want her all to yourself. True, I am not seeing anyone, but at least _I _know a _woman_ from a _whore_."

The unhappy Templar glared at him with daggers as eyes. He was about to speak until the leader finally asserted his authority.

"Enough. If Maria has it, we will leave it to Clarence to find it. If she doesn't. we shall leave him to persuade the information out of her."

"Persuade her..? How?" The other Templar who had a clear thought of Assassin's asked.

Earl laughed, his voice booming across the table and off the walls. "She is to be his _wife_, Christopher! It'd be simple for him: tie her, strip her, and claim her repetitively. I very much doubt that traitor would enjoy having her pride be taken so easily by a man. Though, she probably wouldn't be allowed to resist to moan..."

The others, except for Christopher, chuckled at his words. Earl was always irrational.

Christopher said with clenched teeth, "You forget who we are dealing with. She is like a hellcat, Earl. She's strong, she's smart, and she knows Templar's. For you to make it seem like she's your every day woman is insulting. It is insulting to know that we Templar's put so little consideration into other people. I'm not saying I don't think Clarence can handle himself," he added when the others eyed him accusingly. "I'm saying that although Clarence is tough and like a brute when in combat, she is still very sneaky and lithe. Furthermore, let us not underestimate the Rose for once. Damiel, Benjamin, and Hildegard are not to be messed with, clearly. Damiel's Riva, Benjamin's Dynamo, and Hildegard's Panthers are weapons that should not be crossed with our blades. They may like us to believe that they're common folk, but _they are killers. All three of them are former Templar's, don't forget that_. Also keep in mind that we don't even know the Rose's headquarters. You four make it seem so easy to capture Maria, when it is near impossible!

"To add more, let us think of the consequences of capturing Maria. The Rose would be onto us within moments and fight to the death for her. Do we want to deal with the stress and suspicion that would give us? Do we really want to fight those three? No, we do _not_. Also think of Maria's skills with swords. Her Ebony and Ivory would slice through our flesh like a knife through butter. And, My Lord, _you_ must think if the Assassin does feel for her. It may not be love that a man has for his woman, but she could still be precious to their own Cause.

"He is a man; she a woman. They shared much in common while on their adventures, physically and emotionally. I believe that yes, the Assassin will come for her. To conclude my reasons why we shouldn't pursue Maria, consider that she doesn't have the Piece of Eden. What if it is a trap? What if the Assassin's want us to believe that she has it so that our attention is diverted to the Rose, hmm? What if the Rose and Assassin's are in league with each other and have all of this planned out, and we are their pawns in the game? I'm disgusted to know that you men cannot seem to grasp this situation."

Everyone stared at the table. They were embarrassed that such thoughts _didn't_ cross their minds, yet they were proud of Christopher for seeing different perspectives on the matter.

Finally, Earl broke the silence with his rude voice. "Paranoid bastard. You'll lead us to disaster."

Christopher breathed in heavily and clenched his fist from the man's words. "We shall see."

* * *

Morning's light filtered its way through Altair's bedroom. He was still asleep, the sunlight sprinkling its rays across his skin. Never before had a morning felt this beautiful to him- it was beautiful because _she_ was there with him in Masyaf. Masyaf.. the town was a dull color with some patches of vibrancy here and there. The sand that was swept from deserts always arrived in his town, causing many of the buildings to be weathered away and lose their sparks of interest. But no matter how bland it seemed, Altair still loved this place. He loved every rare blade of grass, he loved the sand that was unwillingly blown here, and he loved the people.

They were not like the other citizens in the other cities. These men and women knew responsibility and most knew how to defend themselves. He supposed that was because of the Assassin's that had taken residence there, but one could never be too sure about these things.

He stirred slightly from his sleep, eyes slowly opening to the sunshine. Stretching his legs and limbs out, he breathed the sweet air in around him. It was spring time, and the flowers were releasing their pollen across the land, changing the scent of the air in the process. He loved spring time. Although it seemed feminine for a man to say that, he truly loved it. He loved it because he believed spring was the climax of the year: the animals were waking up from their deep sleep, flowers were blooming, and people had a cheerful spring in their step. Spring was when life reached its peak. and all organisms were alive and animated. Even nonliving things. such as the wind and sun. seemed to possess a strange joy that one could not explain through words.

Sighing from his legs and arms being stretched out, he turned his head over to the peaceful form sleeping beside him. She lied on her back, head turned toward him, still in the embrace of sleep. Her chest rose up and down in a steady pattern, hair covering her breasts. He smiled from the sight of her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even with faint battle scars on her body.

He loved the way her body was formed. It had a stunning hourglass shape to it- not too skinny and not fleshy, just the way he liked it. Her waist was slender, yet there was a faint trace of toned abdominal muscles protruding from her skin. It wasn't like a man's muscles, but yet it wasn't scrawny like a six year old's. It was _perfect_. From her waist came her hips which filled out more. They had a wickedly seducing curve to them that lead to her legs. Maria wasn't exactly tall, but she wasn't exactly short either. She was around six or seven inches shorter than he was. He loved that distance, though. He loved how she would have to stand on her toes to reach his lips during a kiss and how he would have to lean forward to her.

They both had to play their part in their relationship.

"Maria," he whispered her name softly, a gentle smile playing at his lips. She stirred from her slumber, but her eyes did not open to him. Reaching a hand over to her shoulder to bring her closer to him, he called her name again. Still, no reply.

When he touched her skin, everything seemed to vanish. The walls came crumbling down, the morning light disappearing, and Maria disappearing. He was left alone in the dark.

Moaning, Altair woke up from his dream the moment he had 'touched' her. His eyes darted to the side of him. He sighed in disappointment when there was no one next to him. He was alone, and suffering alone. He stared up at his ceiling, fuming in his mind over how foolish he had been to think that she was _sleeping naked_ next to him. Maybe he did need to get out of this fortress.

Across from the bed, a life-form looked at his companion with large, brown eyes. He removed himself from the lush rug he slept on and rose on all four legs over to the upset man's bed. There, he placed two legs at the foot of the bed and stared confusingly at Altair.

The Assassin looked at the dog and sighed. He was just yet another reminder of his responsibilities. The canine, Bayo*, once belonged to Maria. He was her 'war dog', as she had put it. The Greyhound-Whippet was beautiful and had bright white fur with beige spots. He lolled his tongue out as he climbed onto the bed and licked Altair's cheek and whined. Sighing once again, he scratched the dog behind his ears and hoisted himself out of bed.

Bayo had followed Altair home the night he had spent with Maria. It was as if the dog knew the two of them wanted privacy. He was waiting outside of the fortress the two had occupied that evening, lying down on the stone floor relaxing. Altair tried to shoo the dog away and even kicked it, but it stayed by his side and only looked at him with a sad look in his eyes. The dog knew that Maria was going to leave for England in a few days, but Altair had no idea. Thus, her quick departure from Acre had disheartened and saddened him.

He whined again and nuzzled the now clothed man's leg. It was morning, and he was hungry. Not that Altair would feed him, no- he had neglected Bayo for almost two months now. But that never dampened his spirits. He knew his new master had stress to deal with due to Maria's absence, and he knew all the responsibilities placed on his shoulders taxed him. Bayo just wanted a little attention now and then, something that Altair could not succeed at, but something Malik was quite good at giving him.

Malik was fascinated by the dog. He had never seen such a slender and tall canine before in his life, and especially one not the same colors as Bayo. Malik felt that the dog was a big help for him. Since he only had one arm, sometimes every day tasks like opening a door could prove difficult to the man, so he relied on the help from his furry friend. Bayo was happy to be of assistance. The days of battle were long gone for the six year old Greyhound-Whippet now that he was not an acknowledged member of the Crusades.

Altair looked sympathetically at the dog and shook his head slightly. It had been forever since he had taken care of him, and he couldn't remember what the dog ate. "I'm sorry, boy.."

"Ahh, so the _great Master_ finally awakens! How was your beauty sleep?" Malik said as he entered the room looking quite amused with what he was seeing. Bayo, recognizing the man, barked happily and ran cheerfully at Malik's side and nudged his hand with his nose. Malik pet the dog and once again, that look of admiration and astonishment was plastered on his face.

Frowning, Altair replied, "It was fine. Malik, can you-"

"Don't worry, Brother. I'll handle the mut." Clicking his tongue to gain the dog's attention again, he walked out of the room, laughing as the dog chased ran ahead of him and startled some of the guards further on. With the dog's distraction out of the way, Altair made his way to his study. With Maria out of his head, it was time once again to be the Leader. Sitting down and gathering his quill, ink, and paper, he began to write a message to one of the guards. Without any commotion from the Templar's lately, he was worried. He wanted the perimeter of Masyaf scouted and _now_. Finishing his plans, he called for a guard.

"Take this note and deliver it to the guards in the barracks. They'll know what to do." Accepting the command, the guard hurried off to the others to tell them the news.

The Assassin sighed. It was always write a letter then give it to someone else to pass it along. He missed when he still bore the white hood instead of the black. He was truly honored that he was selected to be the Grandmaster of the Hashashin, but he could never help but to feel that thorn occasionally digging in his side.

Altair began looking through the notes and letters he had sprawled over his desk. He clicked his tongue together with how unorganized everything was. He'd have to start sorting things properly, else he'd have to hear another berating speech from Malik. Putting away his writing utensils, he began leafing through the papers and placing them in separate stacks. The Assassin was terribly bored until something caught his eye. Something _unusual_. Underneath the heap of papers was a scroll tied shut with a vine with rose petals attached to it. Frowning, he examined the letter.

His breath caught in his throat, the seal on the scroll having stars dance across his vision.

_He couldn't believe it_.

The letter was from London, England.


	3. Chapter 3

_"M'Lady, it's getting quite late outside, so Zaina and I were thinking of— Oh," he cut himself short when he saw her hunched over a small table in her bedroom. She was completely absorbed into whatever she was doing, shoulders and back tense. "Lady Hildegard? Are you alright?"_

_"Hmm? Oh, Aden, it's just you. Sorry, I'm just a tad tired. But I assure you that I'm quite alright," she added in when he raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "What—what were you saying?"_

_She repressed a gulp when Aden's eyebrow arched further. Since when was Hildegard so skittish and separated from the world? Usually the woman was right on spot and attentive to everything around her. This worried him._

_Smiling smugly at her, he gently shook his head. " 'I'm tired' isn't an excuse, Hildegard. If you don't want to tell me, then I will respect your decisions. But, since the sun has left this world for the day, Zaina and I were thinking of taking a quick walk around the perimeter of your estate. We don't want to risk the Templar's-"_

_Waving him off, she gave a forced smile and nodded. "Yes, please, go do that. I think we'd all feel safer that way. Please give Zaina my thanks as well, Aden."_

_"Yes, M'Lady," Aden gave a small bow and left her room. Sighing from relief of him not detecting what she was up to, Hildegard slouched her shoulders further. Aden was always a nice man. He was tall, successful, polite, and loving to his friends, even if he didn't always show it. Maria had once told Hildegard that he had taken a fancy in her, but Hildegard dismissed the thought. Too many times a man had said those three vile words to her that could reduce a woman's pride to sticks and stones. And unlike the others, he wasn't an Englishman. _

_Well, besides __Damiel_—no one _knew__ what he was. Perhaps Maria did, perhaps she didn't. Aden, though, was an Arab. How he had gotten all the way to England from his homeland, she wasn't quite sure, but whenever she would ask, he would just laugh and dismiss the thought completely. It annoyed Hildegard that he didn't trust her enough with that information. And his sister, Zaina, who was six years younger than Aden, barely remembered anything from her childhood. Were they making up stories just to sugar-coat a gruesome tale?_

_Looking back at her desk, she couldn't _believe _what she was doing. Had she completely lost her mind?_

_The member of the Rose was writing a letter. She didn't exactly know who she was writing it to, she only knew where it was going. Maria had never told her the name of her lover before, so, that left Hildegard guessing and trying to come up with names. But she did know one thing: he was an authoritative figure in Masyaf. So, she concluded that he was the Leader of the Assassin's._

_Getting up from her desk and breathing deeply, she made her way over to her door and checked to see if it was locked. Turning the handle, she discovered Aden had been a dear and locked the door for her. The man was charming, to some extent, but dangerous at the same time. Is that what drew Maria to this Assassin?_

_Returning to her papers, she continued her letter. It was only an hour after she and Damiel had met behind the church that she had decided to take action. Maria was dying, slowly, but surely, and she needed that man to put her back together. If the situation was as bad as Damiel had put it, then the woman only had at most two years left to live. Two years worth of agony, that is._

_Hildegard had to do this. She loved Maria. She loved her because she was a woman who stood up for her rights and fought alongside men in a very sexist army. She loved Maria because she was able to see without eyes clouded by hate and stereotypes. Most of all, Hildegard loved her because she was strong. She knew how to handle swords, and she most certainly knew how to kick people down ladders. She remembered when Damiel had been chasing Maria throughout Acre, saying that it was an innocent game of 'tag'. _

_Well, no matter how innocent it might have seen, while Maria was climbing up a ladder to escape from his boyish banter, he had followed her up a little too close for comfort, to put it subtly. Grabbing the sides of the ladder with both hands, she kicked both feet out under her and sent him tumbling down back to the ground. The thought spread a smile across Hildegard's elegant face. Damiel had learned from that day never to play tag with Maria again, or to follow her up on ladders._

_But, those were the good days. Those were the days when the Rose was once part of the Templar's. After Robert de Sable was murdered by that Assassin, Maria's bastard of a man, Hildegard began seeing things differently. She began seeing the evil that came from their hands and all the destruction that it caused the people of the Holy Land. Maria had told Hildegard before that she thought that what the Templar's were doing—what _they_were doing—was wrong. She saw how the men in the army would find pretty young women in foreign cities and capture them and claim their virginity. _

_Maria saw how the Templar's would beat an innocent old man for walking in the street. It sickened her to the very core of her being. But she never told Robert of her thoughts. Hildegard guessed that the man could see that she disapproved of their actions, but yet he never asked her how she felt on all of this. He would simply ask, 'Will you die for me?' and she would simply reply with a, 'Yes, My Lord.'_

_Maybe that was all Robert needed. Maybe he just needed to know that Maria was on his side and his side alone. It worried Hildegard when her ally was captured by the Assassin and escaped to Cyprus with him. Surely he wasn't going to kill her? He had the chance to do so in Jerusalem when Maria impersonated Robert, so why would he then?_

_It turned out the blonde beauty wasn't the only one that began seeing a different side of the Templar's. Aden and Zaina had also seen it. They told Hildegard that they were afraid that she would have told Robert and they would have been executed for treason. Treason? It wasn't treason at all. It was simply seeing right from wrong. She remembered when she had told Benjamin, the only man she could trust in the Crusades, what her thoughts were. The older man had just smiled at her and took her hand gently and led her to a chapel. Hildegard didn't know what to think of his reaction. Was he leading her to her death? Was he leading her to a place where they could talk in private?_

_Entering the abandoned chapel, he gave her a hug and whispered into her ear, "Welcome home, Hildegard. Welcome to the Order of the Rose."_

_She was neither Templar nor Assassin. She was just a rebel now. Her surprise showed in her face when Zaina, Aden, and Damiel appeared from a doorway smiling victoriously at her._

_"We'll get those bastards, Hildy, don't you worry," was all Damiel had said to her. He looked very proud of himself. Maybe he was proud that he had finally found a purpose in his life. He didn't want to die for the Templar's, no. Before he joined the Crusades, he was a slaveboy. He was whipped, beaten, and punished for nearly everything he had done to try to please his master. Mainly all he had to do was wash the floors of the grand mansion his owner had lived in, tend the gardens, scrub the non-existing scum off the windows, and cook and wash the dishes all in a day's time. He hardly had any time to himself. When he did, he would watch the guards at the mansion practice their fencing skills. He learned how to handle a sword that way just from watching the men._

_Damiel wanted so much more out of his life. He wanted adventure, which is what he got when he joined the Crusades at some extent. He wanted to learn who he was, and he wanted love. He wanted someone to go up to him and merely say, "Thank you," for the reason of just being alive. Was that so much to ask for?_

_Placing her quill down, she quickly reread her work. It sounded ridiculous! He would most likely tear the letter up without reading it, thinking it a Templar trap. She shook her head. It would have to do. She looked around her room for something to tie close the letter. Without finding anything useful, she looked at the vase of roses she kept nearby. Carefully taking a rose out of the container as to not pick herself on the thorns, she decided it would have to do. She rolled the letter up into a scroll and tied it close with the rose._

_Getting out of her seat, she opened her door and looked around the hallway. The interior of her estate was deserted. Good: the last thing she needed was a nosy servant more than willing to deliver this letter for her. She picked up the skirts of her dresses and quickly made her way to a stairwell that lead to the roof of her territory._

_It wasn't entirely Hildegard's estate. It used to belong to her older sister, Ermengard, before she married. She married a good man, but he was a politic, not a fighter. He was polite, but Hildegard found him drab and boring. The _real _men were those who can defend a woman's pride and shed blood without mercy._

_Reaching the staircase, she began her ascent. She bounded up the stairs, eager to get this letter out of her hands. The longer it was in her palm, the heavier it felt. She should have at least told Benjamin what she was doing. He would have understood, and he would have kept it a secret from Damiel. No doubt the boy would cause a commotion and burn the letter up in fury of Hildegard's pleads._

_The cold night air welcomed her into the outdoors as she finally reached the roof. There was a rather large cage with various types of birds. Hildegard wanted something fast and sturdy, not a pathetic little pigeon that would tire after a couple of hours. This letter needed to reach him and soon. Opening the cage, she cooed at a bird with sharp talons and a deadly looking beak. The falcon stared her down and obediently hopped onto her arm. Hildegard tied the letter to its slender leg and kissed its feathers._

_"Please, with all haste, my dear friend, go to Masyaf and deliver this to their Master. Please, oh Great Bird, please grant me this wish." With the bird perched on her left arm, she held it up and waited._

'Please, please, please...'

_The falcon let out a terrible shriek and flew off into the night, heading east to Masyaf._

_

* * *

_

Damiel ran as fast as he could from the Templar. If he was going to fight, he wanted to do it in a secluded area. He didn't have his spear, Riva, on his person, but Damiel knew how to improvise and handle himself in a fight without a weapon. He ran through the streets of London, nearly knocking into people. They shouted at him and raised their fists up in anger, but quickly aborted their actions when they saw the Templar running after him.

Cursing himself under his breath, the boy continued running, wishing that it was night time instead of morning. If he had the cover of darkness right now, this goose chase would not have been happening. He took a sharp left into an alley and continued running, the sound of footsteps close behind him. He could almost feel the heavy breathing of the Templar. Breaking out of the alley and heading once again into a busy street, the Templar lost sight of Damiel for a moment.

_A moment was all he needed_.

He rushed through the crowd as carefully as he could and risked a look over his shoulder. He couldn't see the Templar. Was he gone? Was he waiting for him? Was he—

Damiel ran without looking ahead of him and nearly had the breath knocked out of him when something grabbed him and pulled him in close. The strong arms around him restrained him from making any action, and the large hand covering his mouth kept him from screaming. The man dragged Damiel further into the alley, and they both watched as the Templar ran right past them, not even noticing the two suspicious figures.

The boy had sweat trickling down his forehead. Finally, when the Templar was out of sight, he threw himself away from his savior and onto the opposite wall of the alley to face him.

"_Aden, you fool! What do you think you're doing!" _Damiel hissed at the man, not approving of being saved by _him_. True, they were on the same side, but they despised each other, partly because Damiel took interest in Aden's sister, Zaina.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Aden looked at him with dull interest. "Damiel, is this how you thank someone for saving your pathetic arse? The least you could do is just say 'Thanks'. Or, perhaps that's too much for you to accomplish."

Shaking his head with a threatening snarl, he snapped, "I didn't ask for your help! I could have handled myself just fine!"

"The direction you were running in would have led to a dead end."

"I can fight without weapons, you fool!"

"And if you got hurt? I don't want to see my sister mourning over the loss of _your_ kind."

Smirking, Damiel gave him a devilish look. "So that's what it comes down to. Big brother always looking out for his little sister. When are you going to realize that all she wants is to be free and live her own life without you watching her like a vulture?"

"It is not your concern on how I raise my sibling, filth." Narrowing his eyes at Damiel, he shook his head in disapproval. "What were you even doing out in _daylight_?"

Shifting his weight and nudging the ground with his toe, he gave Aden a sheepish smile. "And what are you doing out, Aden? Surely you should be courting Hildegard, no?"

Aden sighed and looked up at the sky. '_Is it really that obvious that I care for her?' _He stared at Damiel and smiled coldly. "If that's how you want the rules to be, then fine. Let's settle this at the chapel, you gutted pig."

Chuckling from the comment, the two of them made their way out of the alley. Damiel had to admit, he felt more secure and protected with Aden nearby. After all, he was practically a brute. Perhaps Zaina felt the same way.

Walking back to the chapel to report back to Benjamin, the two of them conversed.

"Has Maria been any better?" Aden made his way through the crowd with ease as he gave the citizens charming smiles, the ladies soon becoming weak in the knees. He was handsome, and he knew it. His copper skin and jet black hair was something uncommon in England, and the more uncommon something was, the more attention it gained.

Damiel shook his head. "No, if anything, she's just gotten worse. She doesn't talk to anyone anymore— not even Benny," he added as Aden raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hopefully we'll be able to figure something out that will—" He cut himself short when a group of pretty young ladies stepped in front of him and gave him seducing looks. Well, the looks _would _have been seducing, but Aden found something much more exotic in another woman. Smiling politely to the girls, he nodded and moved around them, all the while with Damiel looking disgustedly at him. Clearing his throat, he continued, "—help her with her problems. After all, the poor thing's been through so much..." His voice trailed off as a sad frown stretched across his facial features.

"Mmhmm. First, she gets passionate with an Assassin, then she gives birth to a baby nine months later. And then, the baby turns out to be a stillborn—"

"Damiel, we don't need you to be a narrator of what happened. I know, I was there. I helped dig the poor babe's grave, remember?" He shuddered and shook his head in disgust. It wasn't a surprise that the baby didn't make it through the childbirth—Maria had been mourning over her lover and rarely did she ever eat anything.

Continuing further on the streets of London, the neglected chapel of Saint Mary came into view. The two of them walked casually on, trying not to drive any attention to themselves.

Aden succeeded at this. Damiel did not.

The teenager eyed a very attractive woman with a full body. He winked at her, and she only gave him a small smile. His eyes were plastered to her cleavage which showed clear as day that he did not notice he walked into a guard.

Quickly regaining himself, he backed away and gave his apologies. "Ahhh.. Mister, I'm sorry, I—"

"Oh, so now the dirt thinks it owns the place, does it?" The guard shoved him to the ground and kicked him between his legs. Grunting, Damiel clutched his groin and looked at Aden for help. The man was nowhere to be seen, but his laughter was heard quite clearly.

"My apologies.." Damiel managed to say as he got back up on his two feet and shielded his crotch with his hands. "I'll be more careful next time.."

"Next time I catch you being a little ass, you'll be _dead!_" He spat at the ground in front of Damiel, who sulked away from him, head hung low. He walked toward the chapel and groaned when Aden rejoined him.

"Well, I can see you just got your daily adventure," The older man smiled and patted Damiel on the back.

"_You could have helped._" His voice was venom to the other's ears.

Chuckling once more, Aden shook his head. "But, why? I'd miss out on you getting your balls kicked off." He bellowed a deep laughter that formed from his throat as the teenager scowled and slouched as he entered the chapel.

"Asshole.."

"Vagina."

* * *

Benjamin was standing guard outside of Maria's chamber. Damiel was only supposed to be gone for the night, and the rascal decided to have the day all to himself. Didn't he know that Benjamin would like to see the outdoors too? He sighed and wrapped his arms around him. Last night was a terrible one. Her cries were more desperate and her sobs haunted him as he slept. It was ridiculous the amount of pain she was going through. It was ridiculous how _that man_ could live on as if nothing had ever happened. One was suffering, while the other was not. That did not seem fair to Benjamin!

Maria was still asleep, or so he assumed since no sound came from her room. Maybe she was awake and was staring at the ceiling. He had caught her doing that a few times. She would lay in bed, clad only in her shift, and just gaze at her ceiling. Her eyes would be so wide that he thought she just saw a ghost by how pale she would become.

Benjamin shook his head. Every day was a nightmare for her, and every nightmare was Hell for him. He looked up as he heard the sound of footsteps echoing across the walls of the chapel, and smiled when he heard an all too familiar voice complaining and a man laughing.

"Asshole.."

"Vagina."

"Asshole...!"

"No, I prefer _vaginas_, not _assholes_."

"Trip on a rock and damn your large self to Hell, _tonto!_"

"Please, Damiel, you'll wake the dead up with your foolishness."

"_You're _going to be dead in a minute if you do not move in the next five seconds, _burro!_" He tackled Aden to the ground with all his strength, starting their usual wrestling match. They punched, kicked, and bit at each other while a very amused Benjamin made his way over to them. The two of them would never learn to get along—at least not while Damiel was immature.

"Remove your filth from me, _slave_!"

"Oh, I'm _sorry_, you rich bastard! Is my filth getting your hands dirty?"

The veteran smiled and grabbed Damiel by his arms and lifted the boy off of Aden. "Come now, you'll wake Maria up. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Aden was the first to recover from his sudden childish outburst. "Ahh, Benjamin, how is she? Better, I hope?"

"Who can say? She hasn't come out yet." He shrugged and shook Damiel as he still glowered at Aden. "Damiel, forget it. Think about Maria."

Damiel squinted his eyes at Aden in disgust. _Of course _he was being a polite little dog in front of Benjamin. He was _always _trying to look like an innocent angel. Personally, Damiel thought angels were supposed to be _female _and _pretty. _Aden certainly didn't fit that bill.

Damiel tensed his muscles as if he'd pummel the other man to the ground again. Benjamin held him tighter, then with one quick breath, Damiel slumped his shoulders and his energy died. "Yes, Benny..." He'd get Aden another day.

The Arab's eyes followed Damiel as he walked sluggishly up the stairwell to Maria's quarters. He looked at Benjamin and sighed. "May God be with her."

"Oh, He is, Aden, He is. She just doesn't know it yet."

Damiel knocked on her door, quietly whispering, "Maria? It's me: Damiel. Please, may I come in?" The sound of shuffling feet made its way to his ears and he braced himself. _'Maybe this wasn't a good idea.. I should go now, maybe come back tomorrow with some flowers or chocolates. Yeah, chocolate sounds about right! She likes bitter things, and I'm sure it'd cheer her up—'_

Before he had time to turn away, the handle turned and the door opened a few inches. Maria stood behind it, her gray eyes burning into his brown ones. "What is it?" Her voice was dry and her eyes dull. _They used to be so fiery and full of life.._

"Ahh.. well, I just want to talk," he chuckled nervously. "You see, I, well, err.. may I—" Without finishing his sentence, she opened the door further and let the boy enter her room. _"G-gracias."_ Damiel felt the amazed eyes of Benjamin and Aden burning into the back of his head. Sitting on the foot of her bed, he looked at her and took her sight in. Her clothes hung off her body, an indicator that she had not been eating very well lately. Dark circles had claimed the areas under her eyes as their home, and her hair was-

"_Dios.._" He breathed in his shock and shook his head sadly. "_Maria.. what's.. what's happened to you..?"_

A sad look crossed her face. "Many, many things, Damiel.." her voice trailed off and before she could say another word, her vision went black and her knees buckled and she almost fell to the ground, had it not been for Damiel catching her. He screamed for Benjamin and Aden to come, and the two of them burst through the door the second sound escaped from Damiel's lips.

* * *

_"Maria, you must hold your sword like this!" The man gently yet firmly grabbed the girl's wrist and repositioned the sword in her hands. "Good! Very good! Now, you must attack like this to start a chain of multiple strikes!" The voice was soft and deep as he watched her stumble awkwardly around the training arena. He was always patient with her, unlike her father. Oh, if her father saw her with a sword, he'd skin her alive and disown her, she knew it!_

_The blade felt wrong in her hands, yet it felt completely welcomed. _

_This wasn't what a girl was supposed to be learning, was it? But, then again, she did receive regular beatings for wearing her brothers' clothing, so why should this effect her attitude toward herself?_

_Their blades clanged together as she watched and learned the art of combat. She had seen this man many times fight with other men. Her heart beat at a rapid rate and her body was tense. She had never experienced the adrenaline fighting could give a person before this day. How had this happened to her? Did she really want this?_

_She knew how it happened. It all began on that boring weekend. She was visiting her family in Canterbury alone. She saw it as an innocent visit to her uncle, but her father and mother had seen it as an escape. She didn't tell her parents or brothers where she was going. She only told herself and that was good enough for the eight year old. Maria was trying to find something to do. She and her cousin, John, who had the same exact birth-date as she did, had already done their normal routine whenever she 'visited'. They harassed the chickens on the farm, they stole bread from merchants, caused mayhem and destruction all throughout town, and as their punishment, the two of them had to sew three quilts. _

_Sewing was something Maria could not _stand_at home, but she was perfectly alright sticking needles through thread at her uncle's house. Her aunt would play her pipe organ while the two of them worked, and they would laugh and make fun of each other's lack of skill when it came to sewing. Her uncle didn't seem to mind that they were enjoying their punishment. He would sit down in his rocking chair and tell the two of them stories when he was their age. She found it surprising that this man was her father's brother—they were nothing alike! Her father was strict and straight from the book while her uncle thought Maria's behavior was acceptable. She couldn't blame him for thinking that. His wife, her aunt, had much spirit inside of her, and they both looked down upon men who thought women were inferior just because of their sex._

_The two children wanted something to do, so naturally they bothered Maria's uncle. He said that he would teach them how to handle a blade if they would stop pestering him. The idea excited Maria and John. Never before had they thought that one day they would learn how to defend themselves. At least, not Maria. She was a _lady _and had to wear dresses, corsets, stockings, fancy shoes, makeup, and be an obedient ninny to any man. Pah, that did not satisfy her hunger for adventure! She wanted glory. She wanted honor!_

_It took two years to convince her uncle that John, his son, wouldn't hurt her while fencing. She knew that her uncle was scared for her: she was small and petite while John was tall for his age and his shoulders were already starting to become broad and powerful. That never stopped her, though. Whenever she fell, she would get back on her feet and demand for another fight. Whenever she cut herself, she would quickly bandage the wound and taunt her cousin until he would fight her again. The two of them were inseparable. But, that was just life at her uncle's house._

_At home, Maria was a different person. She had asked her brothers to help her with her sword-fighting skills, but they only looked horrified at her and had told their father right away of her request. She soon had her face smacked on both cheeks and thrown into a wall for her disobedience. How was it disobedient for her to ask her brothers for something? Was it really out of her place to ask a question?_

_Before any new memories of her childhood flooded her thoughts, an image appeared in her mind. She recognized it to be a face, and judging by the features she could make out, she decided it must have been a man. The picture was still blurry to her, but after several moments it began to clear up._

_Maria knew the face was familiar. She knew that nose, the stubble, the jaw, the chin, the eyebrows—she knew everything of that man. She knew the intensity of those eyes—_

_Those eyes could melt Maria with one glance. And that scar on his lips would tease hers to taste it. These features of him.._

_They were the looks of a killer. This man... why did he seem so familiar?_

_"Altair..?"_

_

* * *

_

"Oh, Jesus, Mary, Joseph! Why won't she _stop_?" Damiel scrunched his face together as she began screaming in his arms. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but he knew she was saying the same thing over and over again. He looked at Benjamin and Aden for help, but all they could do was shake and try to wake Maria up from whatever had possessed her.

"Damiel, stop your complaining and help us!" Aden barked at his comrade and shifted his weight over to Damiel to force the boy to let go of the shrieking former Templar and to take his place supporting her. "Get us some water!"

Obeying his command, Damiel gratefully sprinted out of her room and to his own. He knew he had a vase of flowers in his room, and all flowers need water...

Oh, he hoped he remembered to water the poor things!

Racing back with the flowerless vase, he threw himself down beside Maria and gracelessly emptied the container on her face. The three men watched in silent hope as her eyes squinted. She let out a breath the three didn't even know that she'd been holding and shot her eyes open. She panted heavily and her eyes darted frantically across the room to her friends.

"Benny.." She let out a soft whine and covered her face with her hands. The fatherly figure put his hand on her cheek and gently stroked it with his rough fingers.

"Shhh, shh.. Maria, it's alright, we're here, everything's fine," he whispered lightly and wrapped his arms around her as he embraced her. She sobbed into his shoulder and began weeping.

"Benny.. he was there.." Her voice was high pitched and strained from screaming. Her words caught on her crying and she clung to her friend for support. "I saw him.. he was there.. he was with me.. we were-"

Aden and Damiel took her hands in their own and squeezed them, letting her know that she wasn't alone. She clenched their hands back and continued speaking out loud as Benjamin rubbed her back. "We were..."

"Maria, oh dear Maria, I know, I know.." His voice comforted her to some extent. "It was just a dream, you're alright.."

"We were.." She gulped back the lump that had been forming in her throat and rested her face in his shoulder. "We were together.. with our baby.." Her head shot up and she stared at Aden and Damiel with a look of horror in her eyes. "My baby..! Where is my baby?"

The two of them looked at each other, the former looking guilty. It was Damiel that finally broke the unbearable silence. "Maria.. Your baby.. your baby died three months ago.. Your body couldn't support the child.."

She shook her head and laughed. "No, no! My baby- my baby's alive! He's... he's right here..!" she removed herself from Benjamin and made her way to her bed. She picked up her pillow and began cradling it. "This is my baby... see?" She held the pillow out to the three of them. They all looked extremely exhausted and they felt terribly awful for Maria. Benjamin shook his head and gently took the pillow out of her hands and set it on the bed. He then covered one of her hands with both of his.

"Listen, Maria. Your baby is dead. You gave birth to it, and it wasn't alive when it came out of you." His eyebrows furrowed together as he saw her look of doubt. He sighed and began telling her the story to try to knock some sense into her. "A year ago, you returned to Acre to visit your Assassin friend, yes? Well, when he visited you, you ended up showing each other a great deal of affection and ended up making love to each other that night on a tower.

"Maria, you became pregnant after that night. You then returned to England because Damiel and I had asked for you to come back to us. We didn't know that you were pregnant, but nine months later, out came the baby. _Out came a dead baby_." Tears began forming in her eyes and she looked from the pillow back to Benjamin.

_What had she just done?_

She ran back into his arms and began crying in rage of her stupidity. "Benjamin..? What's wrong with me? Why am.. Why-"

"It's okay, Maria, your body is just tired. Come, let us go downstairs and get something to eat, hm?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and lead her out of her room and nodded his head to the two others in the room. They still had a shocked expression on their tan faces.

* * *

Clarence was at the chapel of Saint Joseph visiting a priest, one of his good friends. He had made it his duty to befriend as many people as possible to create the most connections as possible. Clarence, being a Templar, had much persuasion that he could persuade the citizens to trust him and his word. But, this priest was unlike the others. He was also a matchmaker, and he could pair two people up with a simple nod of his head and waving of his hands. _Just what Clarence needed_.

He sat patiently on a pew as the man began preaching to the other subjects in the holy building. Their heads were bent down and hands folded neatly under their chins, silent murmurs escaping their lips. Clarence merely sat with his head bowed down, keeping his face concealed from the others. Several minutes passed before the religious people finally began leaving the church and returning to their homes. When they were all gone, the Templar stood up from his seat and held his arms open. The priest and Templar gave each other a brotherly hug and patted each other roughly on the back.

"Clarence, my boy, I trust the Lord is in your favor?" The priest had a kind face. He was definitely middle aged since his skin was wrinkly and no longer tight around his eyes.

Chuckling and leading the priest to a pew, he replied, "Ahh, Father, he has been more in my favor. I trust you may able to be favorable to me as well," he looked at his friend who smiled and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.

"Clarence, you know that I am a man of my word and that I support the Templar's with my whole being. How may this priest be of service?"

"I'm in need of a wife, Father."

"Ahh, it's about time! You aren't getting any younger, and I presume He sees it fit that you are to find one. Would you like me to browse through the candidates?"

Looking up at the dome of the church, Clarence shook his head. "Ahh, my friend, I already have a woman picked out."

"Really? And may I be so bold as to ask who?"

"Maria. Maria Thorpe." He trusted the priest, although he didn't trust him enough. This upcoming act was what he had been practicing on his way to the church, imagining himself doing something completely irrational. He drew in a deep breath as the man began to protest, and then continued on with a desperate, hungry voice, "_I want her, Father. I want to feel her smooth, pale, beautiful, soft skin. I want to feel her breasts against my chest. I want to be on top of her and I want to make her mine."_ He edged closer to the priest as his voice grew more and more dramatic. The man stared at him in disbelief and let him continue with his reasons.

"_Never before had I seen someone so.. intoxicating. I'm intoxicated, Father. I want to feel her smooth hair through my fingers. I want to be able to nip at her neck whenever I feel like it. I want to dominate her and make her obedient and insert my shaft inside her so deep that we will always be one being. _Please_, Father._"

He was speechless. He had never seen Clarence want anything so badly before—let alone a _woman!_ "I- I believe it can be arranged-"

"Don't believe! _End my suffering and make it happen!_" Clarence threw his hands up in the air and spoke to no one in particular. "Maria Thorpe! Beautiful, delicious Maria Thorpe! I've had feelings for you since the day I first saw you! I've stood quietly in the shadows and watched as you have developed from a scraggly girl to the luscious, curved woman you are now! Please, O Lord, please let this woman be mine!"

Raising his hand to silence his friend, the priest gave his response. "Very well, Clarence. I shall arrange your marriage, and you two shall soon be wed-"

"Father Henry, please. I want to be wed to her within the week!"

"Today's Tuesday, my boy-"

"I'm completely aware. Let us be married on Friday! That way, the night can be ours, and in the morning, oh beautiful, lustful Saturday morning, we may be each other's all over again!" He once again threw his head back and raised his arms to the ceiling and a look of wanting was etched into his fair skin.

The priest smiled and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Come Friday, you two shall meet here. Come Friday, her white lips will be yours, your black lips will be hers. Come Friday, her body revealed. Come Friday, your desires fulfilled."

Giving his thanks to his friend, Clarence bounded out of the church victoriously. Not only was he going to make the Templar's rich and powerful, but he was going to get himself a beautiful woman in the process.

_The day just keeps on getting better_.

* * *

Translations:

_Tonto: _idiot

_burro: _donkey

_Dios: _God


	4. Chapter 4

He did his best to control his heart from pounding so hard in his chest. The Assassin thought that it would burst from his flesh at any given moment. _The letter.. it was from England!_ Was it Maria? He blinked his eyes for the better part of a minute to grasp the situation. He had not heard from her in a year, and now this? Now he has a _letter_ from her?

'_Don't be foolish, Altair.._' His mind raced far ahead of him, thinking of what the letter could possibly say. What if she found someone else? What if she was _killed_? He couldn't think that way- no. It would merely cloud his thoughts.

'_Damn fool! Get a hold on yourself and read the damn thing!'_ He clenched his teeth together and shook his head vigorously. _He had to read this letter_. Altair inhaled deeply, holding the air within himself for what seemed an eternity, then exhaled. Regaining his posture and mind, he began reading the letter.

_To whoever this may concern,_

_I know what you're thinking. I know that the first thing you saw was that this message came from England, and I know you think it's her. But, please, do not mistake me as your woman. I am not Maria Thorpe._

Altair felt his heart slump in his chest from the text. '_Well, who are you then?'_

_...My name is Hildegard. I am a good friend of her, I assure you. I am risking my life to write you this message because you need to know. You need to know what has been happening over the past year. Maria has fallen into a state of nothing. She sees nothing, she feels nothing, she __**is**__ nothing. We both know how she was as spirited as a rebellious stallion. You and I remember the fire in her eyes, the determination and beliefs surrounding her like a shield, and her personality toward justice. You can imagine how that has all changed._

_If you cannot imagine, then I shall tell you. She no longer has spirit. She no longer is determined- if anything, she is determined to kill herself. She cares not for justice anymore. She is as pale as bone and soon will be nothing but. You could compare her quite nicely to a doll: all she does is sit there. She sits, and stares off into space, the memories she has of you burning her inside and out. Do you care? Do you care that she mourns for you every night and day? If you do, whoever you may be, you show no sign of it. You show no effort to write back to her messages. You show no effort to pay her a visit- no sign of love for her. Is that what's to be expected of an Assassin?_

_Did you know that there was life inside of her? Three months ago, that life died once it exited her womb. It was a boy. You could have had a son- you DID have a son- but because of your absence she refused to eat for two people, let alone for herself. There was no nutrition to support the baby. But, rest assured, he is in a better place. He is above the clouds in an eternal sleep. Does this bother you? Does it tug at your heart knowing that you almost lost everything that we believed you held most dear?_

His breath caught in his throat as he read the paragraph. _He had a son?_ He recalled that he _did_ enter Maria on the tower- but to think he _impregnated_ her? Whoever this Hildegard was, her last sentences of the paragraph were true. Altair felt something clench tightly around his heart. _He could have been a father.._ Anger toward his oath to the Brotherhood swelled inside him like a mustang preparing to bolt. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came. It was not the Brotherhood's fault. It was _his_ fault for leaving her.

_But do not fear. She is safe from the Templars- __**our**__ enemies. I am not a Templar, at least, not anymore. We are known as the Order of the Rose. We are completely against the Templars, but do not mistake us as your kind. We are not Assassins, and we will only kill if necessary. In fact, all the members of the Rose are former Templars, and we are all friends of Maria in some manner. I know that your killer instincts are kicking in, telling you that this is a trap. Well, it is not a trap. I am telling you this because I sail for Masyaf to meet with you in person on Friday, and I expect to arrive at your territory on the following Tuesday. My quill pens this message on Wednesday evening._

_I would bid you farewell, but I do not know if I am writing to a dead man. Maybe I am writing to a ghost or a spirit of some sort. Maybe this message will never be delivered on time. Perhaps it will fall into the hands of Templars. If so.._

_You bastards will pay._

_-Lady Hildegard_

He let out the air that he did not know he had been holding in. Absorbing this letter was a difficult task for him. The news of Maria, the Templars, this 'Rose', and the fact that he was to expect this woman on Tuesday was overwhelming. She had not asked permission to visit him- she had insisted on it. The fact that Maria had never mentioned his name to her allies startled him, yet soothed him. His identity was not compromised, but yet he could not help the thought of her not trusting him enter his mind.

Altair tightened his hands around the letter as they began shaking. Never in his life had something like this shaken him so. _'Fool.. you promised her you would never hurt her that night.. You promised her that you would always be there for her..'_ He gulped as he recalled how he had never said he had loved her- at least, not in front of her. Once he had leapt off the tower, both of them deeply satisfied with the other, he had looked up at the location they had occupied for an hour or so. He _then_ breathed his love for her: words she never heard. _Words that killed her_.

To think Maria no longer was as threatening as a cobra only made his heart ache more. Before he met her, the one being that he had admired for strength and leadership was Al Mualim. Once he had met her, though, that all changed. He thought she was an annoying blind Templar, but soon discovered it was only a disguise. She was not like the others in her Order. He knew that _she_ knew deep down that what the Templars were doing was wrong. But yet, she never left them. He had always wondered why, and had failed to ask her. Maybe she was afraid? Perhaps she didn't have anywhere else to go? What if she was Robert's prisoner, as he himself was a prisoner of Al Mualim?

_Sworn by words, ruled by blood_.

He imagined her without her bold attitude. She would not be as harsh as his throwing knives, yet as lovely as the feathers used as proof of his assassination successes. Moving on to the next thought that prickled his mind, he thought of this Hildegard's words.

'_I know that your killer instincts are kicking in, telling you that this is a trap. Well, it is not a trap.'_How was he to know of this? This would not be the first time the Templars had tried to act as innocents to gain access to Masyaf. To further urge his decision not to trust this woman, he did not even know her. All he knew was that she was part of this 'Order of the Rose' and that she was Maria's friend. She had not told of how she knew Maria, had not told him what she thought of the Templars, and she had failed to write words that encouraged her disposition toward him. Furthermore, why hadn't Maria told him of Hildegard if they were friends?

Now that he thought about it..

'_She never mentioned any of her allies besides Robert._' He ground his teeth together and clenched his fists as he recalled the trouble the Frenchman had caused his Brothers.

'_Why hadn't she ever mentioned the Order of the Rose?_' He had never heard of such an organization- perhaps it was recently founded? He could not say for sure, and he was _not_ about to assume things to be true. Malik's words in Jerusalem haunted him still.

'_You cannot know- can only assume!'_

The fact that a _woman_ besides Maria had the courage to write to such a man had the Master of the Assassins eyebrows furrow together. He knew it was reckless of him to think that Maria was the only edgy woman out there. He was taken aback with the thought that there were other rebellious women out there. '_Is this an English trait amongst females?_' He shook his head from the thought. Maria had once told him she was scolded many, many times as a child for being so outgoing and bold. Like the women in Altair's homeland, women in England were taught at a very young age to know their place in life. Their place in life was on their back with a male kneeling his manhood between their legs, bearing children that would hopefully be boys. The thought had disgusted the woman deeply. Her will and dreams were too wild and adventurous to remain at home tending to all the needs of a husband. She wanted glory.

Noting how straight forward Hildegard was with her message, he paced back and forth in his study, unconsciously stepping over the neglected books. He expected Hildegard to be nothing more than snoot: the same word he used to describe Maria when he ripped the helmet off of her in Jerusalem.

He had no choice. He could not tell his Brothers about this letter. He needed to know for himself what was happening, and in order to know that, he had to let Hildegard enter Masyaf. '_Malik would highly disapprove.._' Altair sat in his chair and rested his head in his hands. He felt the unwanted ripping of nerves in his forehead and knew that a headache was soon to follow. He had no idea that he had caused so much damage- that _he_ had almost killed _his_ woman. He rubbed his face with his palms and tried to wipe the worried features from his face. _If someone were to walk in.._

"Altair!" The sound of the novice echoed from the walls of the fortress and had the Leader sit bolt right up in his seat with an expressionless mask on. His gaze followed the youth as he bounded up the stairs, tripping as he did so. He quickly got back up on his feet and jogged his way to Altair, stopping to give a small bow in front of him. "Altair! Your horse-"

"- is meant to be taken care of by the stable hands." He narrowed his eyes at the boy, his look sending bolts of fear up the boy's spine. He refused to meet the superior's gaze and instead looked at the ground.

"Y-yes, M-Master, but..." His voice trailed off as he tapped the floor with his foot and flushed light red.

"Speak up, boy. We cannot hear your words if you do not project."

Burning a brighter ruby, the words finally stumbled out of his mouth. "... Your horse is gone.."

"_What do you mean?_" Venom protruded from Altair as his eyes narrowed even more and his features grew as cold and hard as stone.

"It broke the stall... and... and... ran away.."

"Then ready a horse just as great as that one for me."

"Y-yes, Master!" The novice gave another short bow and turned to leave when Altair called him back.

"When did this letter get here?" Altair held the closed letter from Hildegard in his hand and kept his expression blank, but all the while felt his heart pump erratically in his chest.

The novice looked confused. The Master wasn't concerned about his horse, but was brooding over a piece of paper? "It arrived at Masyaf about three hours prior. A falcon carried it, and well... It wasn't exactly a docile bird." He risked a glance at Altair's eyes and found nothing in them. _Lifeless as his son_.

Nodding, he dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand when the youth spilled more information from his trembling lips. "M-Malik! Malik wasn't in the bird observatory to deliver the letter to you himself, as is his job, so... so I delivered it for you, Sir!"

His eyes widened when realization finally crossed him. _Maria had supposedly written him letters, but he did not receive letters. He had written letters to her, asking why she had not written to him, and she had not received them as well. Malik was in charge of delivering and receiving letters. Could the armless man-_

Remembering that the apprentice was still in his presence, he nodded and thanked the boy. He had never seen a student look so grateful for being dismissed by him in his life as he watched in silent amusement as he ran as fast as he could out of the study and out of the fortress.

'_Malik.. you heartless bastard.._' Anger once again snaked through his body and his eyes held a spark of fury. He couldn't believe it! Malik- his right hand man and _best friend_- had been destroying letters! Altair would have to speak to him privately about the matter later. Right now, he still had pondering to do over Hildegard and Maria.

All the Leader of the Assassins could really do was wait for Tuesday to come.

* * *

The grumpy Templar sat across from the understanding man at his dinner table with maids bustling back and forth, bringing new dishes every time. Roasted chicken with gravy, rice, salads containing many ingredients, specially cut slices of steak, mutton with lemon sauce decorating it, and a delicious tomato soup was the two Templar's course for dinner.

Earl was quite pleased with Christopher's estate. It was _far_ better than his own, that was a fact. For one, Christopher's food was of higher quality, although the man mainly only ate salad. Another benefit of his land was that the maids were very.. _appealing_. Low cut bodices, hair tied up above their slender shoulders, and skirts revealing their legs' flesh. Earl was pleased with their company and how when they bended over, their mounds would protrude from their tight shirts.

"So," interrupting Earl from his thoughts, Christopher spoke to his friend. "You leave for Acre, I presume? After all, your daughter has fallen ill, hasn't she?" He played around with the chicken sitting on his plate. He loved chicken, but had already had his share of it. He was a healthy man, after all- he knew that taking in too much protein was bad for a person's body.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Earl continued to greedily eat his food. After finishing one whole chicken leg in a matter of minutes, he replied, "Ahh, yes! She's very sick- my wife believes that her hour is approaching- and my cousin is in need of my assistance around the house. Her husband had just passed away, so she needs me to do the man's work for a while until the funeral arrangements are made." He took a swig of wine from his goblet and smiled at Christopher. "This is really nice- what kind is it?"

"It's a concoction from Spain- I believe they call it _Deseo Rojo_*. How is it?"

"It's very appealing; nothing like our own wine." Admiring the glass, he took another drink from it and licked his lips afterwards. "So, Christopher, now it's my turn to ask a question. Do you trust Clarence?"

Gently dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief, the other looked at Earl with an amused expression; partly because of his liking in the wine and the fact that it was obvious he did not trust Clarence. "Well... his actions seem questionable, at some degree, of course. But he is one of us, and therefor I have no choice but to trust him, now do I? Not trusting our own kind may seem _suspicious_, my dear Earl." A small smirk played across the corner of his mouth. He knew what Earl was thinking. It was written all over his face.

Sampling the steak, Earl paid him little attention while he thought of a creative answer. The sampling soon turned into wolfing as the man was satisfied with the taste and texture of the meat. He cleared his throat, "Ahh, the reason that Thorpe girl was removed, is it not? Surely the woman will pay dearly, no?"

'_Changing the subject, eh? Two can play at that game._' Christopher smiled a devil's grin at his friend as he played his cards carefully. "Have you heard of any other types of exotic wine? Mm? No? Although it is still a messy mob of villages, Spain _is_ a great source of this beverage, don't you agree?"

Scowling from his change in topic, he simply nodded and finished his meal. "Indeed, nothing quite like this.." His eyes flicked to his right as a maid with a particularly large bosom entered the room to take his plate away. "Christopher, you do not have a wife?" Upon hearing these words, the maid took her time clearing the table and looked at her master with curious eyes.

Taking a sip of his wine, he answered, "Ahh, no. The thought of being tied down by a woman and serving her for my entire life frightens me. I'm much happier with my maids here."

"So, they not only tend to your meals, eh? But to your desires?" Earl laughed as the girl's face flushed pink with embarrassment.

The other Templar smiled at his friend. "Please, do not confuse them with whores or prostitutes. They're just my servants."

Earl laughed more from the statement. "Ahh, of course, of course! For what man could want women with a rear this curvy," he reached out with his right hand to grope the back of the girl's skirt as emphasis. "...and breasts this ample?" With his free hand, he grabbed the maid's left bosom and squeezed it. She shrieked from his subtly and rude behavior and looked pleadingly at her master for help. "Surely any man wouldn't turn down an offer as _generous_ as this?"

His smile faded and he glared at Earl. "Leave her be. She did nothing to deserve such rash behavior from you." His glare deepened as his friend did not listen. "Has the wine gotten to you? _I said leave her!_" Christopher stood from his seat and made his way over to his friend. Earl slowly slid his hands off of the maid. She gave a small bow to Christopher and finished clearing the table. The understanding Templar's expression was hard to decode. It looked as if he was half smiling and half scowling at the same time. Earl compressed himself with his arms across his chest and tilted his chin defiantly in the air.

"I was just seeing if she was fit to serve your needs."

"You wish to see if Maria is fit to serve your needs."

"Pah! No, no, I wish to see her suffer for betraying us. You misunderstand, Christopher. That bitch can't just get away with things so unjust."

He closed his eyes and pondered his friends words. "You were never curious of what she looked like underneath the armor?"

"Nay, I wish not to see that woman's body. If anything, I want to see her head on a pike, while the rest of her body mutilated."

"Mutilated? In what way?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Arms cut open, stomach acids emptied, legs dissected, all that good stuff."

"Nothing more?" Christopher raised an eyebrow as an evil smile crossed his guest's lips. "Earl.."

A disgusting grin was becoming even more repulsive by the second. "_I wish to see her vagina turned inside out for ever considering a relationship with that Assassin._" His voice was barely audible as a glint of mischief called his eyes their home.

Christopher looked at the floor, then at Earl. "I understand." He didn't understand at all. Torture was understandable, but... _that?_ No one deserved that- did they?

"Please, Earl, stay the night. Your mind is affected by the wine, and I understand your body to be tired as well."

He laughed at what the other Templar had to say. "No, brother! I shall not stay anymore. I believe I have already worn out my welcome. I'll be returning to my estate and tend to my bed there. I thank you for your hospitality. The food was excellent." He rose from his chair and clasped his friend on the shoulder. "May the Father of Understanding guide Us."

"May the Father of Understanding guide Us," Christopher whispered back to his friend and watched with a sullen expression. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief when he heard the door of his house click shut. He made his way over to the window and watched as Earl saddled up onto his horse to return to his home. "And may He be with you, brother.."

* * *

Earl rode at a brisk pace back to his territory. The night had been a complete lie to his friend. _And Christopher had believed him_. The thought amused Earl and he shook his head as he chuckled at how gullible his friend was. '_Always so literate.._'

Earl wanted to torture Maria, true. He wanted to torture her body with his own. He was tired of Clarence constantly taking credit for his 'genius' plans. Well, it just so happened that Clarence had failed, for the first time ever, to think his plan through. No doubt the wedding on Friday wouldn't end well. So, Earl had made plans to sail for Acre. He knew that Maria was bound to escape marrying Clarence. He knew the first place she would go in order to run back to that God forsaken fortress, Masyaf, would be Acre. From there, she could easily ride for two or three days to reach her beloved Assassin. _He wouldn't have it_.

Earl's daughter had died two years before. The woman that Christopher was talking about that had recently fallen ill was in fact Earl's wife. Earl had her poisoned for this event. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife, it was that he found her boring. Her body was not sexually satisfying, she had no temper, and she always agreed with him. He wanted a reason to whip the woman and to scold her for something she did wrong, but she had never given him a reason for such acts. _Maria, on the other hand.._

He was curious to know what she looked like under the armor. He had seen her without her helmet on and immediately was infatuated with her. He was infatuated with the evil and corrupting thoughts that sprouted inside his mind once he saw how much Robert protected her from the other Templars. She was the only active one that was a female, and that only made Earl try harder to penetrate through Robert's invisible shields.

'_Probably why that damned Assassin found interest in her. He probably wanted to know what figure was hiding behind that annoying armor as well._' He laughed into the night, his horse mimicking him by a shrill whinny. The steed's hooves echoed off of the cobblestone as Earl galloped merrily onto his property. Already stablehands were rushing out to greet him and to take away his beastly burden. They all knew what happened last time when they didn't tend to their master immediately..

It was partially true that Maria's mystery had lured Altair in. Her charms, nonetheless, were very different from other women's. While _normal_ ladies would bat their eyes at men, Maria would glare threateningly at him. Where a _normal_ lady would spend hours cooking a meal to satisfy the man they cared for, Maria would spend hours creating a poison to spill into his drink to kill the man that loved _her_. Earl's mind was corrupted, though. He only wanted Maria for the pleasure of sex. And then, after sex..

'_I am going to kill you, Maria Thorpe. I am going to turn you inside out and ravage your rotting body._' The stablehands shivered in fear as they heard their master's devious and devilish laughter echo off of the halls of his estate.

Things were not looking good for Maria.

* * *

Things were not looking good for the youngest member of the Rose, either. Zaina, Aden's younger sister, sat cross-legged on the roof of Hildegard's estate. It was early in the morning, the sun just rising and sprinkling its rays across the land. The girl had a book in her lap and attempted to read it. With her right hand, she toyed idly with her short choppy black hair while her left hand unconsciously rubbed her right arm up and down. She wore britches that only covered up to her knees and was barefoot. Just like her brother, she had the same tanned skin. She flipped through the pages of the book with little interest. She could read, but she didn't feel like it. She wanted to know what was happening. There was a growing feeling of tension inside of her, and she just _knew_ evil was at work. But, what this evil was, she could not tell for sure. _It just didn't feel right._

She sighed and contemplated herself. She was a thief; not a very good one at that, either. People looked at her like she was different in England because she _was_ different. What was so bad about being different? Many things, it seemed. Her green eyes were something uncommon amongst Arabs, and the Englishman looked at her with a glint in their eyes. But, that glint often vanished when big brother Aden would come and wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer, and give the devil's glare at the men. Not only was Zaina inferior in age and skill, but she was inferior to the other members of the Rose in height as well. She was the shortest of them, barely reaching five feet and two inches. Aden had always told her that she would grow, but she was eight and ten years now, and that miraculous growth spirt had never happened for her.

She was also a coward. She was not afraid to admit that fact out loud, but she was afraid of admitting it to herself. Whereas Damiel, Hildegard, Aden, Maria, and Benjamin would readily charge into battle, she would run away from it. But, who could blame her? She was trained in the arts of stealth and thievery, not combat. She wasn't good at stealing because she didn't believe in herself. Her confidence had dropped tremendously over the years, and it seemed that there was no cure to bring it back. She kept a good façade around people though: always appearing to be the happy-go-lucky girl. She sighed and squinted as the sunlight was aimed directly at her eyes. It was the beginning of Thursday. That meant it was her turn to do the chores around the house once the twelfth bell rang.

Zaina rested her head in her left hand as boredom crawled across her body. Her eyes followed the text on the pages, but her mind would not. There was so much commotion lately that year, and she was curious about it all. First, a woman named Maria joined the Rose. Then, she learned that Aden had fallen for Hildegard, a good friend of the two of them. Next, barely even a man yet, a boy named Damiel had taken interest in her. And now this. She barely knew herself anymore. Why was she even with the Rose? Because her brother was a part of it? Because she had nowhere else to turn to? She shook her head at the thought. She didn't want to go back to the days of stealing food in England's marketplaces. It was a terrifying and hungry way of life that often required much patience. The other children weren't as lucky as Zaina had been. The other children..

She blinked and shut the book. '_There's no point in dwelling in the past. Look to the future, Zaina_.' She wondered why Maria could not do the same. She had heard that the woman was hurt deeply by her lover. Well, couldn't she just find someone new and move on? Was it really that hard? Zaina never had the opportunity to get to know her. She had met her, yes, but only briefly. Mainly, she knew her from Hildegard. The way she described her friend made it seem that Maria was a beautiful, strong, intelligent person. But, when Zaina had met her, she had met a broken and frail _girl_. Although, that was to be expected. She was only accustomed to beautiful Hildegard and thought all ladies of high status were like her. After all, she had known Hildegard for three years, her brother seven years, and the two females had grown very close. They knew almost of each other's secrets and history.

Zaina glared at the sun, annoyed that it was still shining in her eyes. It was a futile effort at a staring contest, and she knew it. A soft laugh interrupted her from her invisible game and the Arab woman looked over her shoulder at the figure standing there.

Olivia, the fourth and final female Rose, stood with an amused expression on. She was a German woman and had a strange accent to her voice, unlike Zaina, who had an English accent. Her hair was short, but not as short as the other girl's. Her golden-walnut mane reached her jaw in a slick curve and her bluegreen eyes accented her looks further. Zaina had admitted to herself that she was jealous of Olivia and Hildegard. Both of them were gorgeous, while Zaina was normal looking. At least, she was normal to herself. Apparently, she was a jewel amongst rocks to Damiel. His comparison had earned him a punch in the nose from the girl.

Olivia's dark thick lashes swayed up and down as she looked at her friend. She made her way over to her and smiled kindly. Olivia wasn't known as a conversationalist, but whenever she did speak, many things were said in the smallest phrases. One thing Zaina was thankful of was that Olivia was almost as short as she was, if not shorter. They had their days when the other would be taller and vice versa. Zaina found it even more pathetic on Olivia's behalf, seeing as how she was two and twenty years old, same as Maria.

But, unlike Zaina, Olivia was good at the work she performed. She was a spy, and whenever she was sent on a mission, she would always return successful with new information.

"Forgive me, friend, but I could not help to ponder your posture. Your body speaks of how troubled you are," the German sat down next to the Arab and mimicked the way her legs were crossed over each other. "Would you like to talk?"

Zaina huffed and played with the ends of her short britches. "Olivia, I feel that something's happening. Do you feel that way? Don't you think that something is going on right under our noses and we have no idea?"

Olivia made no effort to reply quickly. After all, the news she had to deliver was not to be delivered to Zaina, but to her brother. But the scoundrel had left for the chapel of Saint Mary... Her job was to eavesdrop, receive the information, tell Aden of the news, and he was to tell Benjamin, and from there, decisions were made on what actions they were to perform. Normally, in Aden's absence, she would tell Hildegard instead, but..  
"Zaina." The woman's words caught the younger off guard and she looked with big green eyes at her superior. "Zaina, I know what's going on. I will tell you if you promise to listen and ask questions afterwards." The thief nodded and the spy continued. "I believe the Templars are planning something disgusting for Maria. I saw Clarence roaming the streets with a triumphant look on his face and it made me suspicious. So, I followed him to his destination: a chapel. He conversed with the priest, but I could not make out what they were saying. I did not enter the church myself- it'd be much too risky on my behalf- so I watched from a window. Whatever it is they are planning, we need Benjamin to find out quickly."

"Why not tell Aden? It's his job to-" Zaina shut her mouth and looked guiltily at the roof as the other woman's expression reeked of annoyance.

"Aden is not here. He left for the chapel yesterday and has not returned."

"And Hildegard?"

"Locked in her room. I knocked, but she dismissed me.. I don't know what she's doing in there, but I presume it's important, else she would not have commanded my leave." She looked over at the self-conscious girl and wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders. "Please, I'd like to know what you think of this."

She gulped and leaned into Olivia's embrace. "I think it's suspicious on Hildegard's behalf. She's never like this.. right? Why would she suddenly be so secretive?"

"I don't know, but what worries me is Maria. Zaina.. I think.. I think Clarence is planning to marry her."

"_What?_ Don't be ridiculous, Liv! He's a Templar, and she-"

"- is a very powerful woman with much wealth. Think about it, Zaina. Because of that Assassin, the Templars lost many followers. They believed their organization to be weak, which it is at a certain degree. Maria owns her father's _and_ her uncle's estates. She owns a big piece of London and most of Canterbury. Sounds very promising, doesn't it? If the Templars were to get their hands on that land, Zaina... The Rose, the Assassins... we'd be exterminated one by one. I believe this is what Clarence wants."

Zaina scowled and crossed her arms. "We can thank that damn Assassin for this happening."

"Don't go blaming people, Zai. It's an unhealthy habit. No matter whose fault it is, we still have this problem to deal with. Maria's life is in jeopardy, along with the Rose. I need to get the news to Aden.."

She was speechless. She knew not what to say or do. They had to keep an eye on the estate and watch for Templars. If they were to leave to go to the chapel, then that would leave Hildegard defenseless. Not that Zaina doubted her abilities, but she was deeply distracted by whatever she was doing in her room. "We have to go, Olivia.. we have to tell them.."

"And if Hildegard finds out?"

Zaina laughed and gave a toothy grin to her friend. "Then I'm telling her it was _your_ idea."

The older woman laughed and they both left the roof and went back inside of the estate. "I'll write her an encrypted letter explaining things." They both nodded at the thought and began preparing to leave.

* * *

Damiel and Aden looked blankly at the woman sitting across from them taking small spoonfuls of her porridge. They were exhausted from the night before. She would not stop screaming and crying and had even attempted to murder herself when she broke a vase and tried to use one of the shards to slice her neck. They felt sorry for her, yet the two of them were just about done with her behavior. Maria took small bites from her breakfast, black smears encircling her heavy eyes. Her body was even more exhausted than Damiel's and Aden's since she had not even in what seemed like years. Her stomach growled in deep hunger as the food touched her lips.

Benjamin had assigned the two to look after her. He came down with a fever and was tired. The old man was still sleeping, and unlike most men, he had insisted that he rest. He knew his limits better than the two other boys, and he knew that if he did not rest he would have reached his limit. He couldn't do that to Maria- she already suffered the loss of someone she loved leaving her, and for Benjamin to _permanently_ leave her would kill her. He had held her that night and fed her as she cried in pain and loneliness. Although she knew all of his tales of war and his childhood, he repeated the stories to her. They seemed to soothe her and her sobs soon became small wheezes. The only sign that she gave that she was listening to him recite these tales was her occasional, "And then what happened?" Benjamin knew that she knew what would happen next. Was she taking pity on him? Or, was she taking pity on herself? It was times like this when he wished he was young again. At least he'd be treated as an equal.

Some progress had been made with Maria's looks, though. A night had only passed, but her skin held more color in it. It wasn't a ghostly white anymore, but more of an extremely faint cream. Her cheeks were still slightly hollow and deathly white, but over time, she'd return to normal. This hope kept Damiel and Aden by her side. They had Templars to fight and they couldn't be distracted with the duty of 'babysitter' when it came to Maria throwing a tantrum. It bothered her that she was so dependant now. She hated how much of a ninny she had turned into.

"I'm glad you're finally eating," Aden whispered as he leaned his arms against the table, head resting on his makeshift pillow. "We thought you'd never taste food again."

If she had heard him, she made no effort to reply. She finished the bowl of porridge and stared at its emptiness. She had no more tears to shed; all her tears had shed over the year. Yet there was a loneliness about the bowl. It used to be full of food, but now there were only small remnants of the porridge remaining. _She used to love him so dearly... Yet the love has faded.._

Maria was not the only female torn away from her lover. On the corner of the 'kitchen' of the church, a white furry being with black ears and black paws lay on the floor, whimpering quietly. The dog, Belle, was also a Greyhound-Whippet, same as Bayo. The two of them were part of the same 'doggy regiment' in Robert's army. She was actually Robert's dog, but when he had died, she was given to Maria to look after. Instead of neglecting her, she continued training her in hopes that she would be as loyal as Bayo. It was futile, though; no matter how much discipline and order she tried teaching to the dog, Belle would never listen and never quite grasp commands. Bayo was Maria's favorite and best war-dog she had ever trained.

Maria was happy, though, when she found out Robert was going to purchase a dog to fight alongside Bayo in the Crusades. She was infuriated when she discovered Robert named the dog 'Belle' after his opinion of Maria. When the former Grandmaster of the Templars had told her this, a well aimed punch to his face had his nose broken in a mere second. But, Belle was Bayo's mate. The two of them were inseparable, and she was his 'second in command'. Robert once made an analogy comparing the two dogs to Maria and himself. That earned him another broken nose. Bayo and Belle were the last of their regiment, though. Their brothers and sisters had all died in combat, and they were the two lonely ghosts that remained of the canine army.

Belle, although she was just a four-legged creature, knew why Maria was sad. She could see that she was mourning over her lover. Belle missed Bayo just as much as Maria missed Altair. She got up from her resting and walked slowly toward Aden. The dog liked Aden and Aden appreciated her company. He was used to thieving, disgusting dogs from his childhood, but this war-dog had changed his opinion of them. She nudged his hand with her wet nose and he softly scratched her behind her ears. It seemed everyone was tired that morning.

The distressed woman slowly got up from her seat at the table with emotionless eyes and walked off. Damiel's gaze followed her as she entered the 'library' of the chapel. "Em.. Aden?"

"Hmm?" The Arab was still spoiling Belle with attention that he was hardly paying attention to Damiel.

"I'm gonna go follow her.. Just in case." He looked at Aden who simply nodded, and with that, he followed Maria into the study. There wasn't actually a library in the chapel. They used the basement as a place to store their information, and all the books were lying on tables, shelves, pews- whatever they found suitable. He descended the stairwell and stopped once he reached the bottom. He found Maria staring at all the books, as if she was a little girl at a carnival.

"Maria..?" He called out softly to her, and she turned her head to the side, then resumed examining the books. She pulled out a beaten leather-bound book from one of the shelves and yet again stared at it. Damiel ventured over to the woman and put his hand on her shoulder when she began reading the pages.

"Damiel.. I know.. I know.." She mumbled her words to him, unable to speak louder. She was afraid she would begin sobbing like a fool all over again. Maria had embarrassed herself enough lately.

"Know what?"

"I know he loved me.." She breathed in heavily and exhaled. "It's all in these pages.. This.. this is his journal that he kept when I was travelling with him. I.. I managed to steal it from him- I think he noticed, but he never stopped me. He loved books, Damiel. He was very intelligent. He enjoyed reading about philosophy, history, languages- anything that held the slightest bit of knowledge. Often, he asked me questions about life. 'What is life? What is the world? Why are you determined fighting for what you believe in?' I thought that I knew the answers to those questions; I could _feel_ the answers inside of me. But, I could not bring the reasons to words. I could not write them down for him. And, what scared me, was that _he_ could not answer them either. Words weren't strong enough to tell our reasons for being alive.

The young man snorted and chuckled softly to himself. "Maria, was this man an _Assassin_ or a scholar? Because from what you say of him, well.. I'm imagining a short, pudgy man in white robes mumbling insanely to himself in the middle of a city." The thought amused him and he continued chuckling.

Maria did not take the joke as Damiel wanted her to. She stiffened her back and inhaled deeply to control her emotions. "Damiel.. I still know he loved me. The question is, does he still? His love for the woman he travelled with is written in these very pages.." She flipped through several pages and shook her head. "I just want answers. I want to know if he still loves me. If he's dead, I want to know that. If he's found another woman- _well, she'd better be packing her bags up and hit the boat_. Maybe he isn't interested in love anymore? After all, he's a killer, and.. love would be trivial for him. Is he afraid of having a family? ...Afraid of commitment? Afraid of... _me_?"

He was tongue-tied. He knew not what to say to her, and she knew this. She did not expect a reply from him. No, all she needed was someone to hear her out, and Damiel was more than happy to do that. With his free hand, he wrapped it around her and pulled her back to his chest. He could say how much he supported her all he wanted, but it wouldn't change anything. He could tell her that he would help her find this man, but still, it would not change the fact that she was dying.

_So there they were: alone in the library, one embracing the other_. Damiel gulped. He had told himself that he had loved Maria as a sister, and that he liked Zaina as a lover. But, yet, he could not help himself from harboring deep feelings for the other woman. He felt guilty about all of it. It was clichéd that he would fall in love with the woman who had rescued him from slavehood and had brought him into a world where every soldier was equal. Maria had given him a chance at life and he would always be grateful for that. He recalled that when she was discovered to be a female, his mind became overwhelmed by hormones. He _hated_ the fact that he was weak against himself. He thought he could control his emotions, but many times he had almost tried to take advantage of Maria while she was sleeping. Of course, he never succeeded because Benjamin had dragged him away from her and had talked sense to him. And, one time, Bayo was sleeping next to Maria, and the dog had growled and bared his sharp teeth at him. _That_ had scared the foreign boy. He had seen how Bayo could tear a man's arm off of his body with a few tugs of his head.  
He thought he had lost feelings for Maria. She was three years older than him, and he found her superiority admirable and astonishing. _But yet..  
_Maria was the soft touch amongst a sea of needles for him. He had been whipped, beatened, neglected, and starved as a slave. _She_ gave him food, a bed, warmth, and a family. _The most disturbing part of it was.._

_He wished Altair to be dead._

He felt awful for thinking such thoughts. Maria loved the man, and to want him dead just so that she could be available sickened him. He was glad that the Assassin was not here for her, but yet he felt miserable seeing her wither from his absence. _He_ wanted to be the one to hold her and to love her, just as she had held him and gave love to him by taking him in the Crusades. _He wanted that man dead..._

He sighed into her hair. All he could do was hold her. Any other action would mean that he was crossing the line.

* * *

"Olivia.. don't you think wearing these cloaks is a dead giveaway?" Zaina pulled the hood of her cloak down on her forehead. She felt like a beacon that screamed, 'HEY LOOK AT ME! I'M A MEMBER OF THE ROSE!' The cloak was just a normal black robe, but the fact it had a bright red rose stitched into the back of it made the thief uneasy. Olivia had told her that no one pays attention to what you are wearing if you walk with dignity. So, Zaina had tried to copy th way Olivia held her head high and kept an air of authority around her. The thief failed miserably at this feat.

"Zaina, calm down. We'll be at the chapel in a few hours, anyways. I doubt that anything will happen to us. Just walk like you're taking a normal stroll through a garden."

She whined and clung to her ally's arm. "But, Olivia.. why couldn't we wear _normal_ cloaks?"

"It's just a rose- it doesn't mean that we're a part of the Rose, now does it? If anyone stops us, we'll just say that we like roses because they're pretty and they smell good." She shrugged the squealing girl off of her arm and continued walking as cool as a cucumber.

"Yeah, right. What guard is going to listen to us? I mean, we _rarely_ show our faces around London, and just here we are, two new figures taking an innocent little stroll through town, _wearing a rose on our capes_, not causing any trouble, just, you know, walking.. And not to mention the fact that I don't look like an Englishwoman at all and the fact that you have a knife on your person.. Oh, yeah, _no one_ will detect us." She sighed and hunched over and looked at Olivia. The other woman's eyes were wide and her pupils were extremely small to be considered normal. "L-Livia?"

"_We're being followed_." She hissed at Zaina and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. Her voice barely audible, she whispered, "_Just act natural. Act like you're having a conversation with me. Just laugh and act as if nothing is wrong_." She cleared her throat and a smile stretched across her mouth. "Oh, really? He _actually_ said that to her? You must be jesting! Such a thing for him to do is.. well, _unbelievable!_"

Zaina quickly caught on. "Mmhm! _I _personally thought the dress complimented her nicely, but _he_ thought it made her look as if she strapped watermelons to her hips! Do you _believe_ that a _gentleman_ would do such a thing? And he calls himself decent." She clicked her tongue in disapproval and shook her head as Olivia laughed merrily into the air.

"Aha! I knew the man was a twit- ohh, look, you have a bug on your ear." Olivia leaned in and whispered to Zaina, "_There are four of them. We have no choice but to go back to Hildegard._"

Zaina gulped. "Is.. is it gone?"  
"No, it's still there.." Her eyes found an ally and she quickly pulled the girl and walked hastily through the narrow corridor. Footsteps were heard behind the two girls. '_Shit! I have to tell Aden and Benjamin the news!'_ It was almost noon. Maria was running out of time.

They exited the ally into a somewhat busy street. As if they were leading her on, two more Knights of Templar joined the group and began pursuing the girls. "_Zaina.. they know who we are. They must have seen me spying on Clarence.._"

"W-what do we do..?" She looked fearfully at the woman and gasped when she grabbed her hand and pulled her into a crowd.

"Take your cloak off. _Now!"_ Olivia ripped the garment off of her when Zaina failed to comprehend what she was saying. Grabbing a random girl in the crowd, she smiled sweetly at her. "You know, this would very much compliment your eyes and hair, friend." The German held the cloak out to the woman who took it and threw it over her shoulders.

"M-my thanks, m'lady!" She nodded her agreement.

"Do walk with me? I'm a very troubled woman and need someone to talk to." Olivia knew that the women in London could not resist gossip. This news was all too delicious for the random lady. She nodded and the two linked their arms together as they began walking away. Turning her head to look at a dumbfounded Zaina, she whispered the words to her friend, "_Run, Zaina!_"

The green-eyed Arab didn't need to be told twice. She took off away from the crowd and away from the Templars that were stalking Olivia and the other woman. She snaked her way through more people and came to a sudden halt when she spotted two Knights of Templar eyeing her curiously. Zaina looked around frantically for an escape. _That's when she saw the merchant..._

She jogged her way over to the man and collapsed on her hands and knees, bowing deeply to him. "I'm sorry I'm late, Master! I promise, I will never do it again!" She praised him by swaying her arms up and down. He looked at her like she was mad, but made no other fuss. After all, Zaina was a cute girl, and he wasn't about to order her away.

"Err.. R-right.. Don't let it happen again, alright!" He swatted her head with his hand and shoved an item into her face. "Your job is to display these, worthless girl!" She nodded and took the item, a goblet, in her hands and began showing the crowd. She babbled on and on how the item was so unique and how it would add to an excellent dinner set. The Knights of Templar shrugged and walked away from the scene, no longer interested in a mere merchant's girl. As soon as they were out of sight, Zaina shoved the item back to the merchant.

"My thanks, mister merchant! Bye bye!" She waved to him and bolted away from the man. He stood there completely confused and gave her a small wave. He looked to the sky and mouthed the word 'why'. Free from the Templars at last, Zaina turned her direction back to Hildegard's estate. There was a growing feeling of dread in her stomach. '_Please let her be alright..._'

* * *

"Let's see.. I have my clothes, money, food, toiletries, knives... This should be all." Hildegard locked herself in her room and was packing up her bags for tomorrow's departure to Masyaf. She was bustling to and fro her closet and drawers, looking for everything she needed. She hoped Masyaf wasn't scorching hot- she _hated_ heat. Hildegard was the type of woman who would gladly take a stroll in the dead of winter and laugh at the men who preferred to stay inside sheltered from the cold. She quickly packed everything into her satchel and bags, not wanting to spend any more time in the room. Olivia had already paid her a visit, and Hildegard had no doubt that the German woman was suspicious of her secrecy. '_Perhaps she's spying on me this very minute.._' She shook the thought out of her head. She had no plans of telling her friends where she was going. If she told them she was going to see the Master of Assassins, Maria would never allow it. Furthermore, if she was killed there, the Rose would assault the fortress and risk their lives trying to avenge her. She didn't want her friends dying for such a petty cause.

But the fact that if she never returned from Masyaf she'd be pronounced dead scared her. She'd be a ghost amongst the living and would have to change her name- maybe even her looks. She had gone through so much to be where she was now that the idea of starting over from scratch was an unwelcome guest in her mind. She scowled and ran her hands through her hair. No, she would not allow herself to be trapped at Masyaf. She would find a way home.

If she didn't... Hildegard sighed. She knew that once Aden learned of her absence, the man would panic and raise all Hell to find her. That would cause Zaina to become nervous and uneasy due to her enraged brother. And, if Zaina was to be in that condition, Damiel would be stressed and not know what to do with the girl. Thus, Damiel's suffering would only make Benjamin suffer, and from Benjamin suffering, Maria would suffer. Hildegard thought about Aden many times. She knew that he fancied her, but she did not know if she fancied him. She loved having him around since he was quite the gentlemen. He was unlike the other men involved in her life. The other men..

Memories of a child flooded back to Hildegard. _She was separated from her family when she was only three years of age. A woman had found the baby nearly dead on the side of the road. She took the child in as her own. Hildegard liked the woman as a small girl, but once she turned seven years of age, everything changed. The woman was no longer caring or nice. She whipped and hit Hildegard for being more beautiful than her other daughter. She tried so hard to mar the blonde's beauty that one day Hildegard could no longer take it. She ran away from home that very night. She had no money, no food, nothing. She was on her own. Hildegard remembered that her 'sister' had told her that she was very pretty. Ideas swarmed into her head. Perhaps she could persuade men to take her in and take care of her?_

_She was too young to understand the disgusting thoughts of men. She did not know that their kind faces would soon turn gross and corrupted as they pinned her to the bed and claimed her virginity. Thus, Hildegard became a prostitute. She would walk the streets of London, and every man knew her. They knew her as 'that woman'. Other men had claimed she was beautiful and satisfying, so she made her living that way. She would gladly satisfy that sexual desire as long as they fed her and let her bathe._

_That all changed when a man named Sibrand had decided to take her into his house. As usual, she ate and bathed, and then waited in his bedroom. Upon entering his chamber, she stripped of her clothes and beckoned him forward. Instead of taking advantage of her like the others did, he threw something at her feet. The metal clanged as it hit the floor. She had no idea what it was, but could only guess that it was a weapon due to its lethal edge. He commanded her to dress and to meet him in his courtyard. The four and ten year old girl listened to him. She was about to put her gown back on when he handed her a different set of clothes. Why, they were a __**man's**__ clothes!_

_And that was how Hildegard learned how to handle throwing knives and daggers._

She sighed. From what everyone could see, she was beautiful. The only person that she had allowed to see her naked form was Maria. There was something about the woman that Hildegard thought trustworthy, and she had to tell _someone_ of her pain. She was diseased. She suffered many ailments to due the amount of sex in her life. She had scars everywhere on her body. She expected Maria to scream in horror and to hit her. But, to the woman's surprise, all she did was hug her tightly and whisper over and over, "I'm so sorry". It was the first time _anyone_ had said those words to her. They both just stood there holding the other and sobbing like ninnies, but they didn't care. This was the side of the Templars that no one saw- at least, the side that the women had. In front of Robert, Maria was loyal and straight as a board. She listened to every command he gave her and she showed no sign of emotion except for obedience. However, alone with Hildegard, the two women would talk about how after the war they planned on living out normal lives. They would jest about how Maria was to sail to France with Robert to open up a baguette store and how Hildegard would travel with them to sell berets.

The memory brought a smile to her face. She and Maria were the best of friends, which is why she had to sail to Masyaf without her knowing. Aden still haunted her mind, though. She didn't want him to be worried, but at the same time, she wanted him to feel things for her. She knew that he knew that she was diseased and broken underneath her clothes. She had told him this when she first noted him looking at her with a small amount of interest in his gaze. She told him that she was not suited to be a wife nor a mother. And to her amazement, he had said that he _didn't care_. He had said that the scars would only add more to her beauty. She laughed at him when he had said this.

_"You're a foolish man, Aden. What person would want something so disgusting?"  
__  
"The scars are proof that you've been through much, Lady Hildegard. They are proof that you are a strong woman and that you still have pride, even though many men had tried to take that pride away from you. Do you not see that scars aren't always bad, Hildegard? Sometimes... sometimes they're good." He smiled and walked away from her. She wasn't angry at him for outsmarting her. She was glad that he had opened her eyes to this new perspective._

She gathered her bags and let herself out of her room. "Olivia? Zaina?" She called her two friends across the hall. She waited several moments, but there was no answer. Since she was not wearing skirts but rather britches, she walked with ease across the corridor and into the dining hall. " 'Livia? Zaina? Where are you two?" She discovered no life but herself in her estate. What she did find, though was a note on the table. Making her way over to the paper, she set her bags on the floor and began reading.

_Maybe As you Read this, you Insist that A-_

Hildegard frowned. '_An encrypted note?'_ She noted that specific letters were capitalized. "M-A-R-I-A..." She spelled the letters out loud and frowned. "What's wrong with Maria-" She was interrupted when there was a sudden pounding on her door. Angry shouts were heard outside, and she had to make her decisions fast. Hildegard knew that if this note was caught on her person, she'd be accused of being a member of the Rose. _But if she left it there..._

She ran over to the fireplace and reluctantly let the flames eat away at the parchment. She sighed and her frown increased upon knowing that she will never find out what Maria was involved with. Her mind raced back to reality when more shouts were heard. They were trying to break into her estate!

Hildegard ran back to her bags and grabbed them. She raced through the dining hall, corridors, the recreation room, more corridors, and finally reached the back of her estate. She panted and breathed in heavily from the bags burdening her. She shook herself free of the fatigue and barged through the back door, leaving her territory in the hands of Templars.

Once she reached the outdoors, she ran across the roads and into busy streets of the Middle District in London. She ground her teeth together, angry at herself for letting Templars take over her home. She had planned to leave the following morning, but now she had no choice but to sail that very day. She was trapped. If she stayed, she'd be discovered. She couldn't go to Benjamin and the others because they'd be suspicious as to why she was all packed up and ready for travel. She _had_ to leave and _now_. She took a deep breath when she reached the docks. She braced herself as the boarded a large vessel being packed with others leaving London behind.

* * *

Zaina ran as fast as her short legs could enable to her back to Hildegard. The world was a blur around her as she dodged people roaming the streets and barged through crowds of shoppers. She had the wind knocked clear out of her when she ran head first into Olivia's back.

"Ghh!" The German woman stumbled forward and turned around sharply to give a piece of her mind to the person who had just bumped into her. Her face was twisted in a nasty snarl, but that quickly disappeared as she realized it was Zaina. "Zaina! You made it! Good, quickly now! We must hurry!" Pulling the girl up to her feet, she partially dragged her to Hildegard's estate as she dashed further on.

"L-Livia! S-stop!" Zaina struggled to regain her balance as the German continued pressing forward through crowds. Finally, once they reached the estate, she listened to her friends orders and stopped. Zaina panted and rested her hands on her knees as she kneeled over. "Why... thank... God... you... stopped..." she managed between breaths of air. Olivia did not reply, though. Her eyes were fixed on the scene in front of her. Looking at her stressed figure, Zaina followed Olivia's gaze and gasped in horror. "No! That... _Impossible!_"

There were Templars ransacking Hildegard's estate. Fifteen, twenty.. There were too many to count. They broke through the door and ran inside, screaming all the while like madmen. When the men returned from searching the estate, they shook their heads, unable to find who they were looking for. Olivia grabbed Zaina and pulled her into an ally and they both watched from the safety of the darkness. _It was horrible_. Their home... their only place of peace was being destroyed. The Templars held torches and soon they were ablaze with red flames. They tossed their torches into Hildegard's estate.

The two Roses watched hopelessly as their sanctuary was being burned to the ground. There was nothing they could do. It was impossible for either of them to take on that many men.

"Zaina.."

Zaina sobbed and clung to Olivia's arm for dear life. "Livia.. our home.. it's gone.."

"Zaina." Olivia wrapped her arms around the younger girl and rubbed her back. "We need to get to your brother and Benjamin. _Schnell!_"

She couldn't understand German, but she could tell what she meant. Unable to find words, the eight and ten year old girl simply nodded and held Olivia tighter.

"We have two things to tell them, my friend. One: Maria is in grave danger. And two: Hildegard is either-"

She was interrupted by Zaina. "-missing, kidnapped, or..." her voice trailed off. She didn't want to finish her thoughts.

"Dead."


	5. Chapter 5, Part 1

**UPDATED.**

* * *

"_What do you mean she's gone?"_

"Aden, you heard what I said. She's gone- either taken by Templars as a hostage, burned from the fire, or she ran away."

Aden didn't know what to think to think. He was angry, distraught, upset—he wanted to punch Olivia with all his strength for telling him such news, even though it'd probably crack the woman's skull in half. First Maria's stupidity by being emotionless, and now Hildegard being missing and possibly _dead_.

"Olivia... you're... you're sure about what you say?" He sighed and placed his head in his hands and began rubbing furiously at his forehead with his index finger and thumb. All the members of the Rose, save for Hildegard, were present at the dining room of the chapel.

They all had a grim look on their faces, particularly Aden himself. He had not even told her his feelings recently. Of course, he wasn't the type of man who would chase the woman he loved for hours on end just to say that she had captured his heart, but he dropped her little hints of how he felt.

One time, it was when they were still part of Robert de Sable's army of Templar's. They were stationed at Acre, awaiting orders. This was three, four years ago. Maria and Hildegard were supposedly taking their rounds around Acre castle, keeping their eyes open for any suspicious activity. The two were caught by Aden when he found them leaning against the brickwork of a building conversing over how they thought the Templar's were ridiculous.

Not only did Aden scold them for not keeping their posts, but he also looked down upon how Hildegard thought such ill things of the Templar's. Of course, it was all an act on his behalf just to save his head. He thought the exact things they did about the Templar's.

After all, he was Majd Addin's 'little helper', as the man himself had put it. He had watched execution after execution. It sickened him to the grave, yet there was nothing he could do. One, Majd Addin held Zaina captive, using her as a way to keep Aden on his side, knowing that the burly Arab was not a man to mess with.

Two, he had to wait for the opportune moment before he could prove that he hated Templar's to the very core of his being. If he acted on his emotions only, well, there wouldn't be an Aden present in the chapel.

Although Aden had caught Maria and Hildegard slacking, Maria had caught the affectionate look in his eye that he was giving Hildegard. With a sly smile on her face, she excused herself and left the two alone.

* * *

_"My Lady Hildegard." He gave a small bow and held her gaze with his own. She was the definition of beautiful. More over, to his eyes, she was the definition of 'woman'; she had a finely crafted figure._

_She gave a curt smile at him and nodded her head. "Master Aden, if you'll excuse me." Hildegard ducked her head and walked out of his line of sight when she turned around to face him again as he spoke softly to her._

_"It is amazing how deadly a rose is." He had not turned to look at her, but he knew she was facing him. "So beautiful... It is the one flower that even men are attracted to." He closed his eyes and waited for her reply. A normal person would have _not _noticed that Hildegard was startled beyond words._

_However, Aden was not a normal person._

_She gulped and nodded. Before she replied, she composed herself. She straightened her back and held her head slightly high. "As beautiful as it may be, it has thorns to protect itself, dear Brother. Do not forget that." Smiling, she walked away from Aden with purpose in her stride. She left him eating his own words._

* * *

Olivia nodded solemnly and looked over to Zaina. The girl's attention was drawn to the floor— apparently there was something very interesting about it to the thief. "I'm sorry, Aden. We are all grieved from this news."

Aden brought his arms to his sides and clenched and released his fists several moments. His nostrils flared and his jaws quivered as he tried to contain his rage. The others looked at him, then exchanged glances among themselves. They knew what was coming next.

"I'm going after her." He pushed his way past Olivia and lightly brushed past Zaina as he made his way to the door. His sister gawked and ran in front of him, arms held out.

"Please, brother, it's dangerous out there! Believe Olivia on what she says!" She held her breath and looked down at the floor. Mumbling, she added in, "Believe me..."

He sighed and rested his hands on his sister's shoulders. "Zaina, _habibti, _I—I can't just leave her like this. If she was taken by them, then I—"

Damiel squirmed and groaned out, "What makes you think _you_ can do anything! You think your efforts will be more productive than ours?" Damiel held his fist out and slammed it into his palm. All this talk over Hildegard had caused the entire Rose to worry, and now—"You think you're the only one worried about her? Look at us, Aden! Look at Maria! _Dios, _Maria's her _most trusted __friend_, a position you will _never_ be able to domin—"

He whipped around and glared viciously at Damiel, the Devil's stare in his eyes. "What would _you_ know about her, Damiel? You know nothing of Hildegard!"

"Neither do you, _Dummkopf!_" Olivia shoved Aden on the shoulder. "We do not know if she was killed, taken, or ran away! So, _Arschloch_, I suppose you contain testosterone and think with _right _head!" Her German accent made the petite woman seem even more ferocious than she already was, even though her English was broken. She looked over to Benjamin for support. He nodded and looked grimly at Aden, disapproval showing through his eyes.

Damiel smirked at the sight of Aden. He was defeated, and he knew it. He could not argue with Olivia when her blue eyes pierced him like _that_. It was strange what a pretty face could do to men.

"Aden," Zaina hugged her brother from his back, wrapping her arms around him until her hands rested on his rib cage. "Don't worry, big brother, we'll find her. Just.. please... don't leave.." She sniffed and put great effort into holding the tears gathering at the surface of her eyes. She knew crying would only upset him further. However, this sudden display of helplessness from her set Damiel off.

"Now look what you did, _tonto_. You just had to play 'hero' again, didn't you?" The boy's smirk grew when he saw how ashamed Aden looked. He pressed on, "Not only have you made us _discipline_ you, but you made your sister upset! How much more grief do you think we need in one day? Were you _dropped _as a child?"

There was no response from Aden.

Thus, Damiel continued throwing insults at him. His words ranged from calling his mother the rear of a donkey, declaring that he was better off dead, and that he was meant to be a woman from the way he worried over everything.

Benjamin tuned Damiel out as he pondered the recent events. '_Hildegard's estate burned down. Oh, I do hope Richard made it out alright. That poor servant... He had no idea what kind of mess he'd get himself into by agreeing to be part of that household._' He shook his head and furrowed his brow. _'But, something isn't fitting quite right in this.'_

It was a habit for him to stare at the person nearest to him while he thought. He knew that it would sometimes—no, _always—_make the person feel uneasy, but that always seemed to help him think things through. The person closest to him at the time was Maria. He stared long and hard at her face. His eyes were on her, but his thoughts elsewhere.

'_Why so sudden? And how did the Templar lackeys know that Hildegard was a Rose? No doubt the superiors in their Order know, but for them to leak the information out so bravely? This old man doesn't like this._'

Maria returned his isolated stare and tilted her head to the side. She, too, was wondering over Hildegard's disappearance.

"—Your mother was better off bedding—"

"ENOUGH!" Benjamin averted his gaze to Damiel. He immediately shrank away from the veteran's glare. Although he only had one eye, he still could stop an army in its tracks with one brief look.

"Benjamin?" Maria idly spun her hair through her index finger as she carefully chose her words. The others looked at her and nodded for her to continue. It had been months since she had spoken so calmly. "Suppose the Templar's _did_ capture her."

"Aye, go on."

"...Would it be safe to say that they may... they may use her as an advantage to reach us?"

He scratched his chin while he thought his words over. He rubbed his stubble up and down and sighed. "It is very safe to say that, my dear. Which leads me to believe.." His voice trailed off and he looked at the wall distantly.

"Benjamin? What does it lead you to believe?" Olivia cocked her head to the side and stared quizzically at him. Though, his next words startled all of them.

"ORDER!" Benjamin snapped his head up, and, with a cat-like grin, he shouted, "Damiel, Aden, ready your weapons! Sharpen Riva, Damiel! Make sure your short swords and knives have the tongue of a serpent, Aden!"

Then, with a gentler tone, he said, "Zaina, my dear, please go to my room and bring me my map of London. Make sure your arses are back down in this room in fifteen minutes!" He looked at them while they stood still as statues.

"Was I not speaking English?" Damiel and Aden exchanged brief hopeful looks as they bustled into yet another one of the church's basements where the armory was. Zaina smiled at Benjamin and ran out of the room and toward the staircase.

Maria and Olivia sighed once it was just the three of them left in the room.

"Olivia," Benjamin walked over to his comrade and placed an arm on her shoulder, "why don't you tell us the full story?"

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and began, "You both know fully well that it is my job to keep an eye on our beloved Templar _Dummköpfe_." The two nodded in recognition. "Well, it began when I was running to and fro rooftops. I spotted one of the _Dummköpfe—_Clarence, to be exact.

"He seemed... _excited_ about something. I was curious. I followed him to a church: Saint Joseph's. I could not follow him in, my Brother and Sister, for I would have been compromised easily. Thus, I had to satisfy curiosity by spying from window. I could make out bits and pieces of what he was saying, and I did my best to read his lips and actions.

"He was very animated, seeing as how he would occasionally throw his arms into the air and speak as if he was the Lord Himself. I know it is my place to relay information to Hildegard, and that it is her place to give this information to Aden, and for him to tell you, Benjamin. So, I returned swiftly to her estate with the news. However, when I reached her door, it was locked. _Verdammt_, it was locked." She ground her teeth together and shook her head.

"She dismissed me, telling me that whatever it was, it could wait, and that she did not wish to speak to anyone. So strange of her, Benjamin! Zaina was at the estate at the time, so I told her that we had to go directly to Saint Mary. Upon telling her this, Benjamin, I disregarded your orders." Olivia hung her head low and refused to look at either of her allies.

"I told Zaina what I had learned and not Hildegard." She raised her head to resume her story. "I wrote her an encrypted letter. If, by any chance, she were to come out of her room, she would find the letter. She's quite good at decoding, so I'm sure that she would learn of knowledge very quickly. Zaina and I made our way here, then. We were hounded by Templar _Abschaum_!

"You know the rest from there," she concluded sadly. "That Clarence bastard—he got _away, _and Hildegard's missing."

It took several minutes for Maria and Benjamin to absorb this information. It was Maria who finally broke the silence.

"Olivia," she looked at her friend and gave her hand a quick squeeze to let her know that there wasn't anything she could have done to save Hildegard. Continuing, "What was it Clarence was planning?"

"You're not going to like it, Maria. In fact, I don't think anyone is going to like it." She frowned and stuck her nose in the air, as if she was smelling rotten meat. "I believe he wishes to have your hand, Sister."

"As in... _marriage_?" She took a recoiling step back from Olivia as if _she_ was the rotten meat.

Olivia nodded and continued. "I have also researched that this Friday, the Templar's are hosting a fabulous feast to 'celebrate' their 'victory' over the land. Maria, this feast... This feast is actually a _wedding_!"

"You mean to say we only have a day and a half to smuggle Maria out of London and across the other side of the ocean?" Benjamin balled his hand into a fist and soon his knuckles were as white as Maria's skin. "This sickens me...!"

However, it was not entirely sickening to Maria. Her heart was torn from her by a killer of a man. Her own child rested underneath dirt in an eternal slumber. She had an empty ache in her heart that cried out to be filled.

'_Maybe marriage wouldn't be so terrible. If Clarence doesn't care for me properly, then I'm sure I can put an end to him._' She chewed on the inside of her lip while she pondered over the new information.

Benjamin relaxed his hand and heavily placed it upon Maria's shoulder and shook his head sadly. He knew what she was thinking. After years of being by her side in the Crusades, he knew how this woman thought inside and out. And, being her deceased uncle's best friend, he knew how her family most likely responded to certain things. He knew that she wanted love, but Clarence was not the right path to choose.

She looked at the floor with the same disappointment Benjamin had just shown her. "Foolish woman..." Her voice was so low that Olivia and Benjamin looked at each other to know what she had just said. "Foolish..." her voice rose slightly, "Foolish..." it continued to rise after each word she said.

"Foolish, foolish, _foolish_, FOOLISH woman!" She slammed her fist into the wall of the church and did not regret the painful throbbing and bleeding she received from it. "You've been fooled, Maria Thorpe. Oh, Maria, you've been fooled." She had her back to the other two members of the Rose. Olivia looked horrified, but Benjamin's face was smothered in a smile.

She slowly let her balled hand slide down the stone wall of the church, a smeared trail of blood following it. She closed her eyes and smiled to no one in particular. "You will never see him again, Maria Thorpe. Never, _ever_ will you see him again. I need to walk away from this with my head held high. Benjamin," she turned around and smiled at her close friend, "I can't believe I've worried you so much. I am sorry." She gulped. "I am sorry for making myself seem so fragile—I am sorry for making myself so weak as to needing someone else to give me love. I've been too blinded by a lustful wound to realize how much love you've been giving me." She embraced Benjamin and kissed him on the cheek.

"You have said no words, but yet you have said so much to me. I thank you." He briefly held her, his smile growing wider. If he had ever had a daughter, he would want her to be a Maria Thorpe.

She turned to Olivia next. She smiled at the German woman. She gave a small grin and was surprised when Maria awkwardly squeezed her shoulder. The sign of trust ended as quickly as it came. Both women knew each other, yet they barely knew the first thing about the other. Olivia only knew that Maria used to be Robert's second in command, and Maria only knew that Olivia used to be Abu'l Nuqoud's bodyguard.

The former only remembered thinking Maria was Robert's spoiled. sex appealing servant when she and the Grandmaster had visited Damascus to say a polite 'hello' to Abu'l. However, Robert quickly saw how the rather large and damaged man had swept his gaze to Maria's chest. Thus, Abu'l went to sleep that night with a new scar added to his face for eying Maria's breasts, imagining what they looked like without armor encasing them, even though he had particular interest in more masculine anatomies.

"I am glad to have you back, _méchant_." Benjamin shook his head and wrapped his arms around his daughter.

"_Je suis heureux d'être de retour, père."_

* * *

(Damiel's Journal: #1)

_Dios, Dios, Dios!_

I knew it was wrong of me to say those things to Aden, and I know I can sometimes get carried away with my thoughts, and I know that I'm still an immature _boy_. It pains me to admit that to myself, but it's the grim truth. But, you know what? That big lug deserved it. After all, he left me in the street to have my package kicked in by a guard. I thought it was time for some payback, and what better way to embarrass him in front of _everyone?_

Well, not _everyone_, since Hildegard's gone, but close enough. And besides, he made Zaina almost break down in tears. I fancy that girl more than a man fancies meat! I wouldn't say she's beautiful, but she's just very cute. She's so small that she reminds you of a doll almost—_almost_. Okay, so I carry feelings for my mortal enemy's little sister. I'm beginning to make this sound like a romantic novel. _Ew._

I'm in the basement, sharpening my spear, Riva, with Aden a good ten meters away from me sharpening his Snakes. He's probably the biggest man that's ever walked the Earth, and yet he only uses two shortswords. Yes, everything makes sense now: there is a God!

No, wait, I forgot, _lo siento. _Aden is an Arab. That explains everything about him. Stupid Arab...

_Perdóneme_ for seeming inconsiderate of my allies. Aden and I have been rivals since day one, and we tend to keep it that way. I absolutely enjoy making him angry, but it was harsh of me to insult Hildegard. Ahh, Hildegard. So beautiful, so curvy, so clever. I remember when I first met Hildegard. Oh, _Dios, _it was as if you sent me an angel.

Of course, she thought I was a grubby little nuisance. _Maldito._

Moving on to Maria, now. Maria and Hildegard are best friends. They've been best friends since they met each other. You see, Thorpey (one of her pseudonyms, along with others) thought she was the _only _female in that camelshit of an army, also known as the Crusades. I won't deny it, I was severely insulted and shocked when I found out she was a woman.

I swear, she was a man! A _man_, I tell you! No breasts, and she had a bulge in her pants! But, that bulge turned out to be rolled up cloth that was knotted together so precisely that it looked like a—you know. Anyways, that story's for another time, back to Hildy and Thorpey. I remember how they met, too.

They were in Acre, Maria following closely behind Robert like a lost dog. Sibrand was walking toward them from the other direction, and the two men clasped their hands together and gave a brotherly pat on the back (keep in mind, I was here as well seeing as how I was Maria's faithful squire, so I was behind her while she was behind Robert with Benjamin to the right of me). They exchanged words, blah blah blah, it all seemed so boring, but then Sibrand moved slightly to the side and presented Hildegard. You'd think he was presenting a thousand pounds of gold! He extravagantly showed Hildegard off to Robert, as if he was trying to make him jealous or something. And Robert showed Maria off as well, but not nearly as well.

Maria is beautiful. She's got this dark hair that's... Oh, _God_, her hair is gorgeous. And she's got these eyes that are piercing and fierce but yet still so lovely—now I'm fawning over her. Hush yourself, Damiel. They're both gorgeous, but Hildegard's curves beat Maria's a million to negative one, alright? Sibrand and Robert left, instructing Maria, Benjamin, me, and Hildegard to become 'friends'.

Benjamin nods politely to Hildegard, he's obviously met her before. Me? I'm too busy staring at her in her armor. It wasn't chainmail, it wasn't heavy ugly stuff either. It was leather armor that flattered more than one area of her, I'll say that. It all looked for show, but she's proven time and again that she knows how to move in it.

So, Hildegard's circling around Maria with this smirk on her face. Her eyes are roaming up and down Thorpey, as if she was evaluating something. Hildegard explained to me later that she was slightly jealous of Maria's body, but going back to the two cats at play. Ria (yet another one of Thorpey's names) was scowling and staring at Hildegard with this awful expression.

Oh, it was really bad. I thought that they would take each other's eyes out any minute. Hildy was still circling around Ria, making her feel like a rat while Hildy was the snake. Finally, the more gorgeous one (that would be Hildegard), broke the silence. Benjamin and I were both surprised at what she said. She sneered and claimed Maria a virgin. A _virgin! A VIRGIN!_

Who does this woman think she is, insulting my Maria like that! Obviously, she doesn't think herself a virgin, and even though my mind is slightly corrupted, it is not corrupted enough to imagine my friend having fun in bed.

So, I'm guessing you're wondering what Maria did, right? She scoffed and looked away from Hildegard, but then that temper that Thorpey's famous for appeared in a heartbeat afterward. She held her chin up just as high as Hildy's and-

Okay, I always get embarrassed remembering this part, because I can't help but to think of an imagine coming to mind. Please, forgive this boy's imagination-

-and claimed that she liked her vagina _tight_, instead of _loose_. I think Benjamin was trying not to laugh because he was choking by that time. Maybe he was disgusted? I don't know, and I never bothered asking.

So that's how Ria and Hildy became friends. _Best_ friends. Ridiculous, I know, I feel your pain.

I guess it's time to talk about me. No, I don't like talking about me, _satirico_, in case you haven't figured that out yet. My friends barely know anything about me, save for where I came from. And for the record, I don't plan on revealing that any time soon. But, I'll explain how I became a slave (I think I sharpened Riva's head too much... oops).

I'm not from the 'Holy Land'. Me? I think it's way damn too hot. And _Holy_ Land? With that much heat, it is _so_ apparent that the devil himself uses the land as his summer resort when the fiery pits of Hell do not appeal to his temperature tastes. I was born in a relatively hot place, but not nearly as hot, I'll tell you.

But, it was spring time, right after winter that it happened. I was a little boy, and I wanted to get away from the fortress. I'd just gotten in a fight with my brother, as we usually did, and I was upset. So, I was walking. It was _beautiful_ outside. It was hot, a refreshing breeze being blown across the land, and even though the flowers were not yet in bloom, they were still breathtaking. I knew that I shouldn't have been out at the time, _madre _was sure to worry about me.

But it never crossed my mind that I'd be taken hostage. I didn't know that _thieves that stole people_ rode around during beautiful weather to make a profit off of the living by selling their 'earnings' were existing at the time. Sure, I'd heard rumors around my... _neighborhood_... but, seriously? I was only a child, did I really care?

And that's what happened. I remember the horses surrounding me, men climbing off of them. They shouted to one another in this funny language I never heard before. Their accent, quite like Maria's and Robert's now that I think about it, was so strange to me.

And then they grabbed me. Okay, I was always the little boy that hated bath time and would punch, kick, and bite at my brother for trying to set me in the tub so that he could tend to me. So, imagine me struggling against these men. I actually think I screamed, 'NO! NOT BATH TIME!' at them too. Or, maybe I'm making that part up, I have no idea.

But, anyways. I wasn't cooperating with them, and they weren't cooperating to the screaming wild child, so they resorted to violence. VI-O-LENCE. Do you believe that? About seven men couldn't handle a single child (I'm smug thinking about this at the moment- I think I'm blushing from self-pride). But, then they hit me on the head, and it's nap time for baby Damiel. Only, when I woke up...

Talal. That's what they called him. That's what _I_ had to call him, though I had to call him _Master_ Talal. You know, I have to meet the Assassin that killed the man and shake his hand for about three years straight to thank him for ridding the world of that slave trader. I felt bad for the female slaves, though. Not only did they have to satisfy his needs for the house, they also had to satisfy _those_ needs.

The males? Yes, that's how bad it was. We weren't called men or women, boys or girls. _Males and females_. As if we were cattle! Well, we _males_ had it pretty rough. Well, I did at least, because I was sold to a very, VERY needy and unhappy wealthy man.

Wealthy. Meaning big houses. Lots of windows. Lots of floors. Lots of rugs. One Damiel to clean all that up in the time span of... oh, well.. fourteen hours? Fifteen hours? I wasn't even given a full day to clean. I was sold after that, too, because the man's daughter fell in love with me.

Hah! By then, I was eight years old, and I was _not_ interested in girls at the time (believe me, I liked girls, but with _Master_ watching your every move, you want to make sure you get all the dirt off the tile instead of wondering what his daughter's mouth felt like). The next man I was sold to was wealthier. More windows. More floors. More rugs. One Damiel.

He was nicer, though, but not kind. No, he was anything but kind. I have the whip marks to prove it. I was almost twelve years years old when I was sold for the last time. But, I wasn't sold as a slave. I was sold as a _soldier_. I was to be part of the Crusades, if they deemed me worthy meat. So, my wrists are tied together and I'm being led to the camp that the soldiers are stationed.

I'm being led in nothing but loin cloth. I was _embarrassed_. I had never felt more humiliated in my life. When they saw me, those 'soldiers' laughed. They pointed at me. I will never forget their sneering faces. I always thought that there was _someone_ in the world that could understand me, and when I saw all those men insulting me, that dream melted faster than hummus left out in the sun in Devil Land- I mean, Holy Land.

But, there was one soldier that wasn't sneering or jeering or snarling at me. He was wearing this thing on his head that was metal and had a lot of rings on it (at the time I did not know what chainmail was), but it didn't cover his face. He strode up to me, inspecting me.

For once, I didn't feel like cattle. I felt so important and I was trying to show him that I could be a soldier. When he came closer, I noticed how feminine (I didn't know Thorpey was a woman then!) his face was, but I dismissed it. One of my previous owners was supposed to be the woman. They had the face- all they needed were the other requirements.

So, this soldier just stared at me. Then another soldier came and stood next to them. By the way he jested with him, I guessed they were friends. The other man was bald and held a helmet in his hand while with his freehand he pointed disgustingly at me. He had a scar on the right side of his face, and he had this odd accent. It almost sounded like he had phlegm in the back of his throat while he spoke.

His voice had this 'hhiiuggghhh' sound to every syllable. I'll give an example, if I'm not clear enough. The word 'describe', mm? De-scribe. For him: De -hiiiuuggghhhh- scriiii (insert more mucous here) be. What in the world? Did he have some sort of throat issue or something?

Anyways, phlegmmy here walked away from me and shook his head. Obviously, he found nothing special about me. That made me angry, and when I'm angry, it shows clear as day. My eyes lit up and my lips became pursed. I knew that I was skinny and underweight and had very poor nutrition, but was it my fault? Was I to blame for this?

No; I was not.

The girly soldier seemed to be thinking the same exact thing as me. _She _saw that fire in my eyes. _She _saw that look of determination as I stood up straighter and held my chin higher. God, I didn't even know that you _could_ hold your chin high.

Then the soldier smiled at me. They took out a knife. I am going to die, I am going to die, I am going to die. That's all I was thinking. But, then they cut the rope around my hands and patted me on the arm like we knew each other since we were babies. "Fall in, soldier, and welcome to Hell."

Hell?

Well, the heat, no doubt.

Other than that? It was paradise.

You can see how I've grown close to Maria over the years. She's always been there for me, and I've always tried to be there for her. You can imagine how furious I am with her lover for throwing her out like rotten food. The _nerve _of men and how they think they own everything—I hope with all my heart that I never become like that.

If I keep thinking about him, I think my insides will burn off.

Maria also crafted my spear, Riva. One day, while I was training in Acre with Benjamin, she was watching from the sidelines. She was upset by how short my swing was and how awkward I handled a sword. I remember her jogging off, not telling anyone where she was going.

Benjamin found her in the armory, smelting ores and following this guide that looked like it had been torn from an old beaten book.

Now, Riva... she's quite unlike anything else. Her length is only a bit shorter than me, and I'm pretty tall. I'm an inch or two below six feet.

I like to consider my weapon a modified and special spear. First off, the metal Maria used, and she still won't disclose this information to me, is _blue. _Not all of Riva is blue, but some parts are. I think it's pretty.

She also has some spikes along the length of her: very helpful for a swing that isn't intended to kill. I think Maria went overboard with the designs and the construction of her, but I couldn't be more grateful than a weapon like Riva. I wouldn't say she's the best weapon in the world, as Maria's Ebony and Ivory, and Benjamin's Dynamo, are very vicious themselves, but she still has a one-of-a-kind bite to her.

My type of girl, I'd say.

* * *

Everyone had arrived in the dining hall of Saint Mary.

Although each Rose was equal, Benjamin was the leader when it came to strategies. Maria was usually his second brain when it came to this, but this was something he had to plan on his own- much to her dismay, since it was her own forced wedding, after all.

Olivia cleared her throat and politely asked Benjamin if she could brief Aden and Damiel in on the wedding taking place soon, seeing as how the two had no idea what was going on. Without looking up from the map, he merely nodded and gave her permission. The German woman turned to the two and gave them the gist of the story. Aden barely looked unnerved, but Damiel was entirely the opposite.

He stormed right over to Maria and shook her shoulders. "Are you _loca__?_ You can't marry _Clarence!_ What the _Hell_ has gone through your head, Ria?"

She placed Ebony and Ivory on the table and gave Damiel a sad look. He gasped in disbelief of her motives. She gently pat him on the head and he looked down at the floor embarrassed. He never saw it coming. That is, he never saw the wicked smirk cross her face and the mischief in her eyes as she punched him square in the shoulder.

"_Idiot. You really think I'd marry that filth?_" She huffed and returned to Ebony and Ivory, leaving Damiel groping his shoulder and looking rather sheepish. "Stupid boy..."

He grinned and shook his head. "Always so fickle, Maria. You scared me half to death, you know that? I thought you were really going to marry him. _Eugh._" He stuck his tongue out and vigorously turned his head left and right, much how a four year old would do at a plate of vegetables.

"AHA! IT IS GENIUS!"

The others jumped in shock at Benjamin's sudden proclamation, and they hastily huddled around him, looking at the notes he drew on the map, trying to make sense of it all. He held the paper to himself, his face practically buried in it, and began speaking, only the others couldn't make out much.

"If we... decoy... Maria... Zaina... escapes... AHA!" He looked at Zaina and Maria, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

The thief cleared her throat and spoke nervously. "Benny? I don't really like the way you're looking at me. It's very unnerving and it's making me dizzy." She rubbed her arm nervously as she became more and more uneasy when Benjamin had also squinted and his smile was very broad. Maria thought silently to herself that it _was_ unnerving.

He stood up slowly from his seat at the table and gave a small chuckle. "Here's what we'll do..."

* * *

He fumed over what he had recently learned in his head, cursing under his breath over how stupid and careless he had been. Of _course_ he had gotten her letters! But, a certain _someone_ had been hiding them from him.

Altair made his way across the fortress of Masyaf and up the many stairs leading to the observatory where they kept the delivery birds. '_If Malik damaged even _one _of those letters...'_ His mind was being raided by hatred, and it was as if his attire even knew how he felt: his robes billowed furiously behind him as he marched his way over to Malik.

'_To think! My closest friend, my most trusted ally... What does he have against Maria that is so terrible? She stepped down from being a Templar almost three years ago, and he still can't let the fact go that she used to be one of them. Is it truly such a sin to open your eyes to the truth? That _she _opened _her _eyes to the truth of the Templar's? If anything, I salute the woman._'

He had finally made his way to the observatory, but hesitated opening the door as he heard a conversation taking place. He dipped into the shadows and decided to do what every Assassin had to do in order to learn information: eavesdrop.

But, yet, he felt almost guilty for eavesdropping on his own men. They were _his_ men, and he _trusted_ them. '_And look where that trust has gotten you..'_ He snorted inwardly and remained concealed in the darkness as he focused on the words coming from the two men in the observatory.

"...But, Master Malik! Isn't it... wrong...? I mean, they _did_-"

"Hush, boy, hush. It is not your place to question, only listen. You know what to do with the letters."

The novice nodded and kept his eyes down. He always felt bad for hiding the letters, but now Malik had ordered him to _burn_ them. He gulped. The boy could only imagine how his Master, Altair, was feeling. He loved this woman that the letters had come from, and yet Malik refused to let him see them, let alone even know about their existence. True, these were all old letters that he was going to burn, but no matter how old they were, they'd still be news to Altair.

"Now, off with you!" Malik dismissed him with a wave of his hand and the boy rushed out of the observatory, not even noticing Altair looming in the shadows. Novices.

Once the boy's footsteps were no longer heard from the long passageway, Altair submerged from the silhouettes and presented himself in front of his friend with a blank look on his face. "Hello, Malik."

Malik's back was to him at the time, and he spun around, shocked. However, the surprise soon faded as he recognized Altair. "Ahh, Altair! What brings you up here?"

"Betrayal." He took a step closer to Malik. "Arrogance." Another step. "Why do you think I am here, Brother?"

Malik shrugged his shoulder and blinked blankly at the other. "Perhaps you wish to speak to someone? Or maybe you're concerned about replacing your horse? Or-"

"-Or, maybe, _someone_ could tell me _why_ they've been hiding letters from _Maria_ from me." He had now closed the distance between them and the fury escaping his eyes was almost tangible as he slightly towered over his friend. Malik sighed and slouched away from him, leaning back on the observatory wall.

"Brother, I did not mean for it to offend you. You should know by now the difference between helping and hindering."

"_Help me_?" He repeated the words in his head and orally. They felt disgusting over his tongue, as if they were poisonous. "_How_ did you plan on _helping_ me when you have only torn my heart from my flesh over and over again? Malik! You... You really thought this would help me?"

He once again sighed and shook his head. "Altair, have you looked at yourself lately? _Have you_?" He waited for a response from his friend. Reluctantly, Altair shook his head slowly. "_Exactly_. You have been brooding over her, mourning her absence for a _year_ now. You make it seem as if she was dead! Meanwhile, have you thought of yourself?"

"No, you haven't," he smirked. "You only hold thought for this... _woman, _as you claim her to be." He paused and took another breath. "You refuse meals. The maids tell me that you do not even relieve yourself daily anymore. You haven't shaved in about two months- at least, I _believe_ that is _human_ hair, and not some animal infesting your face! And yet you bathe regularly, but yet you do not look at yourself. Have you noticed how drained you've become? Do you not feel your energy depleting?"

"If anything, I feel my energy kicking in now," Altair growled and clenched his fists in tight balls.

"Adrenaline, my friend. Once your fury calms down, you'll be a mess, I assure you. True, you stay true to the Brotherhood and you _are_ a great leader, but you do not know how to lead yourself! Instead of having pride, and a _sensible amount at that_, you slouch around, heartbroken! _Heartbroken!_ You amaze me, truly."

He waved his arm in the air again and continued, "You can take countless beatings. You can have your ring finger removed. You can be slashed nearly to death. You can _die_ and _come back_, but you can't let a _woman_ out of your life! I dare say this is worse than Adha when she disappeared, Altair. I will not lie: I do not like this 'Maria Thorpe'. I know what she used to be, and what she is no longer, but the fact remains. The fact remains that she still has traces of Templar in her, and she will not hesitate to turn back to them for comfort or for aid!"

He was silent. He had denied that he was indeed a mess in need of a cleaning. He had denied that for a year, hoping that one day she would return to him. "Malik.."

Malik sighed and looked at his friend lazily before replying. "Yes?"

"The letters. Let me read them."

"_Ohhhh!_ Do you not listen to anything I say to you, Altair!" He grabbed hold of his hair and yanked it so that it bobbled his head side to side. "No, of course you don't, because you have such arrogance! There are millions of women out there- _pick one that will stay with you and one that is not a Templar!_"

"I have already chosen one!" He swatted his hand away from his face and stared daggers at him. "I have already chosen Maria Thorpe, Brother, and I intend to stay with her!"

"How can you stay with her if, hmm, I don't know," he scratched his chin, feigning thoughtfulness, "_if __she left you a year ago to return to England!_"

"And I intend to find out _why_ she left me! Brother. The letters. Now."

"They're being burned."

"Then I expect you to stop that burning process no matter what the cost is."

He motioned Altair over to him, and the two looked down from the balcony into the courtyard of Masyaf where the training ring was. Instead of the usually novices sparring, there was a small burning pile of-

"The letters! Malik! _Why_?"

"The answer is simple, Altair. Move. On."

"I needed to know-

"No, you did not." He rested his chin in his arm and looked absolutely bored. "You had an intimate moment with her, she left you, end of story. No more, bye bye, good riddance."

He growled and raged out of the observatory. "_Mark my words, Malik_." He treated his name as if it was a sin to say, "_I will find her, and I _will _get to the bottom of this_." Gracelessly, he left his friend.

Malik shook his head. "Brother... why can you not understand women? If she wanted you, she'd have come back to you."

But this opened up a new perspective for the Assassin: a view on the matter that he had never considered before. What if she was afraid?

What if she _did_ love Altair but _didn't_ want to give up her freedom? After all, women's jobs _are_ to provide sons for the husband.

He turned to the burning of papers and watched as the smoke curled into the air from the flames eating away at the letters. He shook his head and sighed, fearing that perhaps Altair was right after all. Chuckling, he whispered to himself, "But _what_, exactly, is he right about?"

* * *

Dummkopf: fool

Arschloch: asshole

Tonto: idiot

Verdammt: damn

Mechant: vicious

Je suis heureux d'etre de retour, pere: It's good to be back, Father

Dios: God

lo siento: I'm sorry

loca: crazy (female)

madre: mother

satirico: smart ass (rough translation)


	6. Chapter 5, Part 2

And here is the rest of chapter 5 ^.^ **-UPDATED.**

I apologize for not uploading it sooner, been crammed with, gee, lemme guess, more homework. And more homework. And a whole hella lotta exams. I think the professors are all in league XD Maybe they're Templars...

And my roommate spilled her soda on my laptop and fried it. Yeah... had to buy a new one... lost all my schoolwork... She suffered my wrath, don't worry! :D!

My thanks to Christina and Meadjean for editting my chapters :D

Enjoy!

Oh, and, all original characters belong to Ubisoft, but everyone else is mine mine mine :3

Did I mention mine?

* * *

The only sounds coming from within the halls of the fortress were the footsteps of one very unhappy Assassin. He wanted to hit the nearest thing possible and release his anger in one blow. But he could not, at least, not yet.

He was not the only one in the hall, though. Before he had begun his dramatic, purposeful walk, the others of the fortress had been casually conversing with one another, taking enjoyment from their friends' company. But, now, the younger students looked terrified as the leader briskly marched his way to his chambers. The older and more advanced Assassin's merely sighed and looked at the floor. If he wasn't brooding over the loss of his woman, then he was relieving his anger in such a way.

As soon as he had left the hallway, whispers began and voices echoed off of the walls of the fortress.

"What's _his_ problem?"

"Shush, it is not yours to question, young one."

"Do you think he's been demoted again?"

"Foolish boy, the leader cannot demote himself."

"What could possibly have happened now?"

"I do hope he's alright- we're only as strong as our weakest-"

Altair paused and slowly angled his head toward one of the novices. His eyes blazed dangerously as he silently dared them to say one more word.

The small crowd immediately grew silent and the novices looked around nervously, as if trying to find an escape from the superior man's presence as he neared them. He towered over the boys and looked down at them in disapproval.

"Would you care to elaborate on that sentence?" Altair kept his eyes two deathly slits as he challenged them. Normally, he would have let such talk go by without a single word. Ignorance was bliss, and if they wanted to speak rudely and incorrectly of him, let them. However, he was in no mood to be trifled with. Not after his little talk with Malik.

There was no reply from the other members of the Assassins. They kept their gaze strictly to the floor, not daring to look Altair in the eyes. They had heard rumors that if one were to look directly into the Master's eyes, they would turn quickly into stone. Of course, such a thing was untrue, but novices will be novices.

Altair gave one more look to the boys before he turned on his heel and left them to squabble in their humiliation. '_Respect is a must if one wants to earn it back.'_

He continued through the stronghold and gave silent nods to the guards as he occasionally past them in the halls. The look on his face, though, clearly said to all that he wasn't to be questioned or spoken to. He was and was not aware of the concerned looks of the other Assassin's as he made his way around them. It was as if he was in two worlds at the same time. His body was making its way to his bedroom, while his mind was screaming at him and filling his thoughts with hatred.

Hatred toward himself.

It seemed that even being Leader, he was still unaware of many activities going on in his faction. True, he did not wish to know the personal lives of his comrades, but he would at least like to know the basic motion of communication taking place within the strong walls of Masyaf.

Finally making his way to his room, he stepped quickly to the wall near his bed. He inhaled deeply, trying to contain his raging emotions. He felt like a bottle that was filled up with boiling venom. But a bottle can only hold so much before the lid finally bursts.

Without warning, he shot his fist at the wall, ignoring the pain that his knuckles earned. There was a _whack!_ as his hand connected with the stone, but he barely heard it. He slammed his forehead against the stone, his breathing becoming more hysterical and labored. He wished that he could go back and fix things- make them right for once.

Altair always had someone tell him what to do, always had someone superior to him to lay out his life's plan. Al Mualim had denied himself any emotion for the sake of the Assassin's. That is, every emotion except for greed. Now, it was Altair's responsibility to lead the Assassin's successfully and preserve their Order. How could he, though?

He was torn inside and out. He had made a huge mistake in his life- no, the _biggest_ mistake- that any man would have made. He refused to believe himself like other men. He had seen what they were like through his assassination contracts. No, he could not and _would not_ degrade himself to such a level.

But he had to admit, falling in love was a huge mistake.

There was a quiet _click click click_ as the canine made his way leisurely into his master's quarters and lazily laid himself out on a rug near the desperate man. Bayo had grown used to seeing him act so unnatural for an Assassin. He usually let his feelings escape him at night when the rest of the world was asleep so that none would hear his growls and swearing. Bayo lifted his head up and stared at Altair, clearly uninterested in his actions.

It was almost always the same, and soon, he would yell at the dog for interrupting his peace and shoo him away by demanding that Malik come and rid him of the hound's presence. And after that, Malik would come and do his best to entertain the pooch, and Bayo would have to put his brilliant facade on and pretend to be enjoying playing fetch. It was moments like this that he desperately wished he was back with his former mistress, Maria.

But the dog would not stand for Altair's abuse today. No, he most certainly _would not_ stand for another show of his master being childish. He was a _war_ dog, a _soldier_. He was _not_ there to be ordered around by an insecure assassin and hope that his life would turn around for the better.

Altair removed himself from the wall and in scorching moments, removed his clothes. He ripped the robes off of him, realizing that he very much wished to be in his Assassin garments. He purposely walked to the chest by the foot of his bed and lifted the lid off of it in one annoyed motion. He missed the days before life became complicated. He dearly missed the days of pursuing a target and feeling the rush of the kill descend upon him moments before his blade sank into the man's throat.

How much Altair would give for the days of justice- the days of purpose in his life! What was he to do now? Lead the Assassin's when he was incapable? He could always give Malik the position of leader, but although they were best friends, his pride refused him to let go of such a status.

But most of all, he missed the days of Maria, before and after he began understanding her. He remembered how much he wanted to kill her in Jerusalem when he had thought she was Robert de Sable. Right when he removed that rusty helmet from her, he wanted to rip her head off for being fooled in such a way. To further irk him, all she did was smirk in victory. He was, of course, glad he spared her life, as was the way of the creed.

And then they became allies when they traveled to Cyprus. At first, she was still defiant and ignorant to him, but over time, she accepted him for what he was, but not for who he was. He was an Assassin, and she a Templar- he the moon, and she the sun. Never could the two be together, but somehow, they had managed for a blissful night together.

He sighed and looked longingly at his robes and leather straps and waistband. He felt as if the garments were mocking him; telling him that he was no longer the man who had the spirit and duty to end others' lives.

* * *

When he had sighed at his clothes, _clothes!_, Bayo decided that he had had enough of watching him. He sprang to his feet and, in one quick leap, had made his way to Altair's side. Without any warning, he sank his teeth into his leg, but not enough to pierce the skin. It was only a painful bite.

The man whipped his neck to stare wide-eyed at the dog and in a moment had risen to his feet and glared at him. Removing his teeth from his skin, Bayo backed away from him and pounced on his front paws. His hindquarters were in the air and he growled a challenge at the Assassin. Surely he could handle a simple _dog_.

Altair was slightly startled at the ferocity in his eyes. He had always seen him as a calm, respectful, cool as a cucumber dog. This was completely a different side of him- the side Maria trained him to be.

Man and dog stared each other down, not once blinking. It was completely silent, their breathing the only audible sound.

The next sound that came from Bayo was more than a bark. It was a wake-up call, a shout that broke the silence, a command, _a sound of a leader_.

It was cold, emotionless yet challenging and demanding at the same time, and _loud_. Bayo let out one more feral growl before turning around and sprinting out of his room.

He stood there for quite some time, absorbing the situation. Bayo bit him and had basically told Altair to follow him in the fortress. To where, though, he had no idea. A sudden rush of anxiety and anger coursed through his blood, and without hesitation, he grabbed his clothes from the chest and swiftly pulled them on.

* * *

The Assassin's in the fighting ring situated in the courtyard of Masyaf's fortress looked at the dog with shocked expressions. Bayo clambered down the stairs, running at full speed, yipping and barking his head at the members of the Creed. He bared his teeth at them, daring them with that evil look in his eyes to command him to calm down. He was _not_ in the mood to take orders to _calm down_. He was only in the mood to take orders to attack.

With the letters successfully burned, the courtyard was once again teeming with life as the younger Assassin's sparred in the ring, but that had all come to a sudden halt as Bayo barked and threatened the trainers. Should they restrain the dog? Should they _kill_ him?

But what had he done that was such a crime? Bark?

Altair followed the sound of the peeved canine through the fortress and found himself looking down at the courtyard from the top of the stairs. He smirked as he saw the novices desperately try to shoo Bayo away, telling him to be a 'good boy' and to go back inside the fortress and to help Malik open a door. If Malik heard them say that, they'd probably be missing a limb or two.

The older and more experienced men came to the novices aids, calling out to Bayo.

"Please, go back inside!"

"Come on now, there is no need for this!"

"You are messing with the wrong crowd, dog!"

Altair recognized the novice that had previously insulted him in the hallway. His smirk grew wider as he heard him try to reason with the other brothers.

"Bayo's a nice dog, though," he looked to the others at his side and shook his head. "Maybe he's hungry?"

"He's hungry for the fight, Brother!" Altair's voice pierced through the shouts of confusion in the combat ring. Silence followed his words as the others looked in disbelief at their leader. "Do not show shame to the dog," he made his way down the stairwell leading to the courtyard, "for he was never trained to be idle and pampered."

The crowd mumbled words to each other as Altair took a sword off of one of the racks adorning a wall of the fortress. He pulled it out of its sheath and scrutinized it carefully. His eyes scanned down the entire length of it, making sure it was not a dud. He swung it in his hand, the familiar _shwoo!_ the blade made once it ran through air causing a smile to flicker onto his lips.

No one moved as he neared the ring, satisfied with his weapon. He swung himself over the fence of the ring and stood still in the middle, his eyes glancing to and fro the other men.

"If the cry for battle is in the air, then let it be known."

His eyes smiled a bloodthirsty glare and he gave all his Brothers calm yet intimidating glances. The others shifted their weight from foot to foot and looked uneasily at their comrades. Was this a trick? Was this a test of their faith to their cause?

Shaking their heads from the thought, three novices entered the ring. Altair could see them shake with nervousness as they drew their weapons out. They had heard the stories of how he had faced the entire Crusader army. That was an understatement; he had only faced _half_ of the Crusader army.

And there he was: standing there with the air of a serpent luring its prey in, like how the snake had charmed Eve.

The bravest of the three novices stood in front as the other two protected his sides, and then they charged. They _charged_ at an Assassin- the _leader_, the _master_, the _most experienced._

His fingers drummed almost impatiently on the handle of his sword, waiting for the three of them to be in reach of his sword. They were clumsy, but he had to respect their courage. Metal on metal finally clashed, the screeching echo causing the men to inhale sharply. They had seen much combat in their lives, but they had never seen Altair with that look in his eyes. It was as if evil spirits possessed the man.

His arm muscles flexed as he pushed back with his sword, causing the connected blades to separate and for the novice to stagger backward. He took the opportunity to swing his sword near the other's hand. Frightened, the lesser dropped his blade, afraid that he would have his fingers cut off. He quickly stepped away from Altair as his two comrades took their positions in front of him, protecting him.

Another smirk appeared on Altair's face as the others both attacked him simultaneously. Sidestepping one blow, he blocked the other with his sword. Breaking from the contact, he backhanded the other novice as he faltered from having his attack dodged so easily. Altair's gauntlet burned the other man's flesh as it dug into his cheek, hooked onto the tender flesh, and then ripped back out of it. He was thrown to the ground from the abuse.

The novice bit back a cry of agony and gritted his teeth together. He would _not_ give his Master the satisfaction of seeing him scream in pain, although he very much wished to swear to the heavens at the moment. The novice that Altair had previously disarmed had drawn out a knife from one of his boots and was now standing behind the other remaining novice, his arm on the man's shoulder. Altair knew that tactic very well: if things were not going smoothly for the man in front, the one behind him would pull him back and take his position while the former would be behind him.

Although, Altair couldn't determine whether they were trying to form a strategy or if his hand was upon the other's shoulder just for moral support. It almost had a laugh escape his lips.

The one in front lunged and missed terribly as Altair once again lightly stepped to his side. He saw an opening as the one in the back had his eyes bulge out of his head in disbelief, and he grunted as pain greeted his unprotected stomach. Altair shook his head and continued smiling the devil's grin when he removed his elbow from the man. He collapsed onto the ground, curled into a ball, and clutched his stomach.

It was now one on one, though, that would not help the last remaining novice. This time, Altair attacked first, easily finding the other's weakness and had him unarmed in moments.

Bayo stood on his hindlegs, his forelegs draped across the ring's fence as he excitedly watched the combat. _This_ is what he was bred to do. _This_ is what the hunger in his veins craved so much.

Altair smirked victoriously and once again shook his head. He closed his eyes and gave a small laugh, and was about to comment on the fighting when his eyes snapped open as more novices entered the ring. He frowned, but welcomed the fight soon to follow.

He would defeat one novice, only to have two more take his place. They were fighting in pairs of two, not daring to attack him without backup. Altair found himself in a slight predicament: he was surrounded by them. He stood in the dead center of the ring, the others forming a circle around him, weapons drawn, about to finish off their prey. He cursed himself mentally while his eyes darted around. True, they were only novices, he could easily defeat them, but he had put on a poor demonstration of strategy and caution to the young ones.

A scream broke the silence and the others, including Altair, looked at the novice blankly, eyes blinking in confusion. He clutched his leg as soon as the teeth were removed from it, and there was a flash of fur before Altair decided to take advantage of the moment. With the others still startled, he quickly disarmed one man and broke through the ring the men had formed around him.

Bayo circled around the men as they had finally collected their wits. He was slinking closely to the ground, body tense, ready to spring into action at any given moment. A blade swung at him, but just like Altair had demonstrated, he jumped out of the way, snarling and sending his teeth once again into a man's leg. But unlike how he had bit Altair in his bedroom, he was sure to draw blood this time. He ripped himself away from the flesh and continued stalking around the others.

'_Incredible and noteworthy.__'_ Altair looked back and forth from the dog to the other men as the canine dodged more attacks and caused more injuries on the other novices. He was impressed with his stealth and how quickly he could form a plan in his mind. More over, he was thoroughly impressed with Maria training him to behave so well during combat. He saw how he held that constant spark in his eye and he knew that that spark would remain even in the face of death. Altair found himself marveling over a dog.

'_I doubt that's the extent of his capabilities._' Altair whistled, and the dog quickly made his way over to his new master. They continued the fight: man and dog against men. Bayo was mainly a delightful distraction for Altair. He would feign attack, while the enemy would counter, then jump out of the way as Altair took opportunity after opportunity to strike.

The dog paced behind Altair, waiting for the next novice to attack. There were five of them remaining, the others dragged out of the ring from the bystanders once they were too wounded to fight. Altair held his stance carefully, eying the men with a new confidence that he had not felt in what seemed like ages.

But the men were none too eager to attack. They were stalling- trying to regain their breath.

He racked his brain for anything to catch them off guard. He could easily take them down himself, but he was inclined to see what other skills Maria had taught Bayo. He finally found a solution- a risky one- and decided that it would have to do. Maybe, just maybe...

Altair's shout broke the uneasiness as Bayo lunged in response to the command. He bared his teeth as he jumped onto the novice and pumped energy through his legs as he pinned him down on his back. He did not take the opportunity to rip the man's throat out. After all, this was only practice, no need to overdo it. Bayo jumped off of him and returned by Altair's side.

The Assassin's outside of the ring murmured to one another. They were impressed- they had _never_ seen anything like this before!

He once again took his chances as one of the novices decided to try to flank the dog. This time, he didn't need to give a command.

Bayo scurried to his left while Altair unarmed the man.

It was a beautiful partnership that Altair slightly envied. They fought together for hours afterward, but no longer in need for a fight. They wanted to see what the other could do and how the dog took commands and what commands to use. He was beginning to understand why Maria preferred dogs as allies rather than people.

* * *

It was well into the night when the fighting had finally stopped. The men were standing in the ring, panting heavily, sweat dripping off of their slick skin. By this time, the heat had grown unbearable and they had stripped of their shirts- some of the men even stripping off their shalwars.

Rising up to his full height, Altair's face softened from its tense and calculating gaze. Each Assassin that had fought was out of breath and panting, even the Master himself a bit out of air. The novices shyly smiled at one another when Altair inclined his head respectfully to them. They'd received praise from their trainers, of course, but to have the Master approving of their performance!

One of the novices approached Altair. "Master, if I may?" Altair nodded and sheathed his sword.

"We are all very impressed with Bayo," he waved his hand to the panting dog, "but we wish to congratulate _you_." More novices gathered around him. "You have done an extraordinary job training him, and-"

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he replied, "Brother, it was not me who trained him. I am not the one to be credited with such an achievement."

He looked bewildered and shook his head. "Then- then who, Master? Who was it?"

Altair removed his hand from his shoulder and exhaled, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. "A friend just as capable and deadly as Bayo."

* * *

The Master of Assassin's heart was still beating at a slightly faster beat as he stood in his room. The sweat would have made anyone uncomfortable or frown, but he welcomed the feel of it. It had been forever since he had had stepped foot inside that ring. That _click click click_ sound made its way to Altair as Bayo trotted up next to him. He no longer had those deadly eyes.

Bayo was once again the happy, cheerful dog with his tongue lolled out as he joyously panted and nudged Altair's leg. The man scratched the dog behind his ears in silent pride as he exited his room to make his way to the baths. Bayo followed loyally. He had changed his mind over the man. He had witnessed how brutal and strong he was and he admired Altair and finally took it to heart that this man was his new master.

True, Altair probably still grieved over Maria, but that's what the two of them shared in common. Maria was their link, and because of her, Altair had found a companion that was not man. At least Altair could trust Bayo with secrets, unlike _someone_.

Altair found that the baths were deserted and that there was one already prepared. He sighed gratefully and removed his attire as Bayo laid down on the cool tile of the room and continued panting. Altair slid himself into the hot water, his muscles instantly relaxing from the contact. Contented, he leaned back on the side of the tub and closed his eyes. His heart was still pounding from the neverending training, but he welcomed the feeling.

He felt lighter and could feel small sparks of energy spring up in his legs. The image of the woman he loved and will always love came to mind.

He did not feel any remorse or sorrow course through him, though.

"Maria..." Her name tumbled its way out of his mouth as he opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling of the bath house. A small smile tugged on his lips. "You haunt me every day, in one form or another. How much longer will you have me miss you terribly?"

Altair closed his eyes once again. He prepared himself for the words about to be said. "I wish you were here, Maria. I am sure I made many, many mistakes fighting today. I would give anything to hear your voice telling me how foolish I was to be encircled by novices. I'd love to see you scowl and cross your arms as I continued to make mistakes just to make you angry." He grinned from the thought and flexed his shoulders. "I'd do anything to see you blush slightly as I would make my way over to you just to tell you to be quiet and allow me to concentrate. How beautiful you are when you blush... A pity you only do it so rarely."

Bayo was partly aware of his master murmuring his former mistress' name as he licked his paws and chest. He was laying on his side, completely mellow and content. He whined, rolled onto his back, and bit at his paws, wiggling and squirming and playing with his feet. Altair looked over at the dog and smirked at the sight he was seeing. Strange how he could be so lethal and then the next moment act like a puppy. He would definitely have to train with him more. The talent Bayo possessed was nothing to neglect.

Altair rose from the bath and swung his legs over the edge of it and made his way over to the mirror completely nude. His wet feet slapped across the tile leaving wet footprints that Bayo curiously smelled and sneezed at.

Altair looked at his reflection in the mirror. He blinked and cursed from what he saw.

"So, Malik was correct to say that an animal had invaded my person," he mused. He sighed and made his way over to his pile of gear. He selected a throwing knife and returned to the mirror. He carefully ran the knife over his skin, not wanting to cut himself on accident.

In a few moments, the disgusting hair that had grown on his skin was non-existing, and taking its place was his usual stubble. He smiled and recognized himself again. Although there were lines of fatigue and stress on his face, he decided he did look better.

Bayo must have noticed it too because he nudged his leg and lolled his tongue out and wagged his tail happily at his master's new appearance. Altair smiled and pat the giddy dog on his head.

"It fills me with the utmost joy that you approve," he smirked.

'_Oh, you look _so _dashing, my lovely Assassin._'

* * *

The excitement pouring off of Benjamin was almost tangible as he began telling his comrades his brilliant plan. Maria, Aden, Damiel, Zaina, and Olivia were crowded around their superior, eyes bulging as he explained step by step what they would do.

"Alright, so, we know that this wedding is Friday. This gives us enough time to make preparations. This is what we will do—Damiel, stop that yawning, my boy! Maria, you will agree to take part in the wedding. You will follow the escort to the chapel, and prepare to be wed.

"The chapel consists of an undercroft that's been recently cleaned out- poor souls. This is where you will get changed into your wedding gown, Maria, and this is where Zaina and Olivia come in." He glanced at his friends and frowned. He could see that Zaina was bobbing her head along with what he was saying, but she really had no idea what he was talking about.

Aden would have to explain it to her later.

"Olivia, I need you to help Zaina sneak down there without being detected. Also bring Riva with you and hide her under the last pew on the right-hand side of the chapel. You're very good at blending into the shadows, and tradition says that the chapel is not to be entirely illuminated by candlelight during weddings.

"Fortunately for us, although it is daylight, the windows of chapels are stained thickly with a paint that does not entirely let sunlight pour through. Ladies, I trust you will be successful. Olivia, once you get Zaina down to where Maria is changing, you will quickly leave the chapel and make your way to the buildings near the south entrance of London. I want you stationed there so that your arrows will bring down the guards and archers, down and below. Now, for Zaina.

"My dear, you will take Maria's place in the wedding. The lack of light works to our advantage. Although you're shorter and smaller than Maria, we have the upper hand. Maria has not been outside of this chapel for almost a year, so therefor the Templar's memory of her will be at least vague. This is perfect! Once Zaina makes it to your room, Maria, I need you to quickly escape the church without being noticed. I know this is not one of your fortés, but you _must_ succeed in this.

"As soon as you leave the chapel and it is no longer in sight, take this route," he ran his finger across the map, "and wait in the shadows. This is an alleyway that most people avoid because beggars have claimed it as their home, but beggars are friends in London. Aden and I will meet you there shortly after you arrive. No doubt the city will be crawling with Templar's, so we will protect you as you make your escape." He held his hand up when Maria opened her mouth to protest about her protection.

" Damiel, I want you to be a guest at the wedding," Benjamin continued while he shot a look at Maria. "You will take your place at the last pew all the way to the right of the chapel where Riva is. If anyone asks you for your identity, you are to say that you are Benjamin Mills' son, Ryan, do you understand?"

He received a curt nod from the boy and continued. "Once the wedding actually begins and Zaina is at the altar with Clarence, things will start to get a bit out of hand. When Clarence makes to kiss you, Zaina, I want you to turn your head to the side and be defiant. You need to make him realize who you are and that you are _not_ Maria. Damiel, you will then assist Zaina to escape. By then, stealth will not matter, as the guards will be informed along with the crowd.

"_You will protect Zaina with your life and escape that chapel in one piece_. Do not take any unnecessary risks. Once you are rid of the chapel, head toward the docks and dispatch any guards there as well as the guards on the ships. Zaina, I'm trusting you to distract them while Damiel deals with them. Please, my dear, don't engage in combat if you don't have to."

"And what of you and me, Benjamin?" Aden did not like the fact that _Damiel_ was going to be protecting _his_ sister. But, he knew that he could not argue with Benjamin, so he acted completely neutral to the thought.

The veteran nodded and pressed on. "You and I will escort Maria to the docks south of London, where Olivia is stationed. We will take this street," once again he motioned toward the map with his fingers, "and take the perimeter of London. I know it is a longer route, but the distance will have us rendezvous almost together.

"No doubt we will have to fight our way through Templar scum, but I believe we can handle ourselves against them. They will be in disguise, obviously, but we _all_ know how Templar's act. Identifying them will be with ease, my friends. Olivia, once you catch sight of us, dispatch of the archers _first_, then turn your attention to the guards stationed on the ground. I'm sorry to put so much responsibility in your hands, but you are a very good shot. A _very_ good shot."

Olivia smiled and nodded gracefully. "You have my thanks."

"When we clear the south gate, we will immediately take to the docks. Most of the guards will already be slain, thanks to Damiel and Zaina. However, should there be more than we thought, the three of us," he nodded toward Aden and Maria, "will take care of it. Olivia, I trust that with your agility you will be able to join us at the docks before we set sail.

"B_ut, if you do not make it, I want you to ride out of London and make haste to Canterbury and stay there until I send word for you_." He sighed and gave a grim smile when the other members of the Rose gave small nods. "We will sail for the Holy Land- Acre, to be exact. I have a few friends there that we can trust."

Everyone nodded and murmured amongst themselves. The plan seemed solid enough, but they knew the tiniest flaw could send their strategy tumbling quickly to the ground. They knew that although Benjamin was intelligent, they might never be able to pull this off.

"Are there any questions?"

Maria nodded and looked him straight in the eye. "What becomes of us once we reach Acre?"

He sighed and shook his head. He knew this was going to happen, and he knew that Acre was next to the last place she wanted to go to. Too many painful memories were made there for her. "We will begin looking for Hildegard."

Aden shook his head sadly and looked pleadingly at Benjamin. "My friend, how do we know that sailing to Acre will get us closer to Hildegard? For all we know, she can still be in London. Or.." he refused to think of the other possibilities of her whereabouts.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "You underestimate my Lady's abilities, Aden. True, she may be captured, dead, or ran away, but are you seriously going to brood over her? Would she want that from you? Would she want that from _any_ of us?"

"She's right," Maria cleared her throat and continued with her debate, "Hildegard is my most trusted friend. I know her inside and out, and I know that she is strong and determined and hard to the core. And I know that she would not want us to be little babies and cry helplessly over her absence. We must respect her, Aden."

Damiel smiled at Maria for two reasons. One: Aden had once again eaten his own words. Two: Maria was showing signs of returning to her former self each passing minute. '_Oh, today is a beautiful day in London._'

"Then we must retire and rest." Zaina blankly stated. The other members smiled at her and nodded, glad that she gave her word in their plan. She was always so meek and shy around the others that they welcomed any words she said.

"I agree," Olivia wrapped her arm around Zaina and looked to the others. "We all need our rest."

They left the room, but Damiel remained. Just as Benjamin was about to file out, he looked back to the boy and made his way over to him. He looked over his shoulder, making sure the others had left the room. "Damiel, my boy, is everything alright?"

He nodded slowly and stared at the map lying on the table. "Y-yes, Benny. Sorry to worry you." He was about to walk away when Benjamin placed a hand on his shoulder and gently ushered him into a seat.

"You cannot lie to me, Damiel," he chuckled at the other boy, "we've known each other for far too long." Taking the seat next to Damiel, he pressed on. "Now, tell me, what is troubling you?"

Damiel opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it. He looked at the table, then to the ceiling, his mouth set in an agitated thin line. He was about to burst at any moment, but Benjamin squeezed his shoulder lightly. Sighing and releasing the tension inside of him, he spoke softly, "Everything is going to change, isn't it? We'll.. we'll never be able to come back to London."

"I thought you said you didn't like London?"

"I don't, Benjamin," he rolled his eyes at the other man and rested his chin in his hand as he leaned his elbows against the table. "It's just... I don't have a place to call home. Every time I'm about to settle in somewhere, I always end up leaving. I feel like a nomad- Hell, I _am_ a nomad! I just wish that I could have somewhere that I could go home to every night, relax, see my-"

He stopped him with a wave of his hands and chortled softly. "Damiel, listen to yourself. You sound like a desperate housewife!" He shook his head and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Come now, you will find yourself a home soon enough. London just isn't home to you, that is all. You are very young yet, Damiel, you shouldn't worry about these things."

"What should I worry about, then?" He gave a brief smile, but it vanished as soon as it came as he stared Benjamin in the eyes.

The veteran crossed his arms over his chest and gave the impression of thinking very deliberately as he refused to return the boy's gaze. Instead, he fixed his eyes into the table, completely mesmerized. "Well.." Benjamin's voice was serious, but he was itching to burst into a fit of laughter. "What every young man thinks of."

Damiel sighed and let his forehead hit the table with a thud. "That doesn't exactly help, _mi amigo._"

He snorted and stood up from his seat, "Think about Zaina then."

Damiel sluggishly lifted his head back up. "I can't; Aden knows telepathy and if he catches me even _thinking_ about her, I'm roasted kufta."

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. " 'Kufta'? What.. what is that?"

The boy shrugged. "It's a type of food that my mother used to make."

"And what type of food is that?" Benjamin hoped that he would reveal _something_ about his past.

But to his dismay, he did not. Damiel smirked and rose from the chair. He looked at the older man with that same smirk, and just walked away from him.

Typical.

* * *

"Should I be dusting off suitable clothing for the wedding, Clarence, or should I be sharpening my blade?" The snide voice of the Templar, Tyler, made its way to the other man's ears. He smiled despite himself and chuckled. "After all, it is always good to be _proper_ for weddings, no?"

Clarence shook his head, but smiled back. "Feel free to dust off your duds, Tyler, and also feel free to sharpen that blade of yours. I expect our honeymoon to be none too pleasant- at least, for _her_."

The Templar's were once again under the structure of St. John's chapel, having yet another meeting. They were all anticipating the wedding, each of them eager in a different way. Tyler was eager for his part in the torture that was soon to follow the wedding, while Clarence awaited for his marriage bed.

Christopher was eager for the wedding to be over and done with. All he had heard during this meeting so far was 'wedding this' and 'wedding that'. Yes, he was indeed looking forward to gaining new land from the bonding of man and woman, but he felt a stab of pity for Maria. One could not help who they fell in love with- could they?

Their Grandmaster, Malcolm, was seated at the head of the table, casually taking sips from his goblet of wine. To his right sat another Templar, Seer.

Seer was not a man known for conversation, to say the least. In fact, he was not a man known for anything positive. The Roman was brutal, quiet, and as lethal as a cornered snake. He sat with his elbows resting on the table, hands folded together underneath his chin, head slightly bent down and eyes closed. He was the muscle in the Templar Organization- he was _not_ meant to be sitting at a dull meeting about a wedding. Yes, he was relieved when he discovered they'd earn much wealth, but sickened when they decided to discuss their intentions when it came to Maria Thorpe. Seer wasn't merciful at all, but the talk of women made him uneasy.

His left eye twitched not only from the scar that ran across it to his left temple, but also from the nonsense coming from Clarence's and Tyler's mouths. His rough, calloused hands had battle scars ranging from small to big, long to short. He absent mindedly drummed his right index finger against the skin on his left hand as he waited for intelligent conversation to begin. His attention perked up slightly when he heard the name 'Benjamin Mills' mentioned between the two men.

He and Benjamin had fought side by side before Robert was even commander of the Templar's and Crusader army. They were allies, to say the most. They knew each other, but that did not complicate the situation of Benjamin being a member of the Rose and Seer still remaining a Templar. They were anything but friends- Benjamin was cheerful and optimistic while Seer was dreadful and pessimistic.

"So, I take it the wedding is still planned? We still have time to change it, you know. Friday has not yet graced us with her sun, Brothers." Malcolm looked over at the two men and frowned slightly when he saw what appeared to be Seer dozing off. Oh, how little the man knew the other.

Clarence nodded and averted his attention to Malcolm. "Yes, my Lord. In short, we will be married at noon at St. Joseph's Chapel and then retreat to St. John's- quite ironic, isn't it?" He chuckled and soon Tyler and Malcolm joined in. They gave remarks how they wanted the entire story, not just his little snippet of a summary. Christopher remained silent, unable to laugh as freely as they would.

It was cruel how they were planning on blackmailing Maria. Clarence nodded and decided to give them the entire plan. "We will feast after the wedding, of course. However, there will be poison in Maria's drink, causing her to fall unconscious after a few minutes pass by. I will then explain to the other guests that my wife's only tired, nothing more, and escort her promptly away from the chapel and take her back to our headquarters. And then, I will be a man fulfilled."

Tyler smirked and sneered at him. "You will be fulfilled only when you pass that barrier between her legs, brother."

Christopher sighed and shook his head. He could almost feel the headache about to form. "Tyler, another has broken that barrier. She is damaged goods, and if Clarence _likes_ damaged goods, then..." He shook his head. "We need not discuss this."

Clarence scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Very well, brother. If the thought of women makes your stomach turn in such a way, perhaps we should talk about men instead to satisfy your needs." Tyler and Malcolm both laughed at his comment while Christopher glared at Clarence.

"I do find women attractive, you brainless bastard."

Again, the Templar let off a hoot of laughter. "Yes, you very much find those servant-whores at your estate _attractive_, don't you?"

Christopher crossed his arms and shook his head slowly, his face becoming as hard as stone and his gaze deadly as he stared at Clarence. "I would never do anything to the girls. If you knew one thing about them, perhaps you'd rethink your statements."

"Of course!" Tyler slammed his hand on the table and still shook with laughter. "Because they had such _terrible_ lives, you feel the need to make up for that _hole_, don't you?" Malcolm and Clarence chortled at Tyler's remark, but Christopher looked furious.

"So, just because people are not _spoiled_ and _cooed_ over, that makes them have terrible lives, Tyler?" The others became silent, except for Seer, who had remained silent, as Christopher's voice changed tone. "And look where spoiling has gotten you, Tyler. You are a coward who is afraid to hurt even a dustbunny. You cannot even woo a woman to bed- you must _pay_ for her services."

He narrowed his eyes, and Tyler slumped slightly in his chair. "You cannot even support your own backbone, filth." He took a sip from his glass and all of his ferocity vanished in an instant. He smiled at his comrades and his face softened. "So, Clarence, continue the wedding plans. Enlighten us."

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed. "Afterward, we will drag her naked body to the torture chamber. Seer and Tyler will take it from there." Clarence looked over at Seer, who had frowned from his last comment. "Is something wrong, Brother?"

He shook his head and looked at Clarence. Words did not escape his lips, though he was insulted deeply. Maria would be strapped down to a table, completely unable to defend herself, while he took pleasure in causing her pain. He was a man of honesty, and abusing a helpless woman was anything but honest, although he would very much enjoy it. Tyler, however, smiled disgustingly from the idea. Of course _he_ would enjoy such a privilege.

"I will be sure to cause her much pain, Clarence." Tyler narrowed his eyes as his smile became even more gruesome, his canine teeth showing through his lips. "Torture is so.. poetic, is it not?"

Clarence laughed and nodded at Tyler. "It is a one-sided war, Tyler."

Raising his goblet, Tyler replied, "Then victory shall be ours soon. Very soon, Maria will tell us the location of the Piece of Eden. Following that, the Rose will be destroyed, along with the Assassin's. I doubt that they have the willpower to block the Apple's seductive energy. And then... then the Templar's shall reign for all eternity!"

Malcolm laughed, encouraging Tyler and Clarence to continue their pep talk. They did, screaming and shouting like madmen how they would rule the world and have all the most beautiful women for themselves and how men would cower underneath the Templar's.

Seer scowled, and for the first time during the meeting, spoke up. "Fools."

The victorious cries died instantly as they all, except for Christopher, looked at Seer in accusation and astonishment. "Pardon?"

He drummed his fingers against his hand as he shook his head. "You are saying you are victorious when the battle hasn't even begun yet. You are either mad in the head or just ignorant."

Clarence shook his head and glared at Seer. "Do you have no pride?"

"Do _you_ have no pride, Clarence?" Seer raised his head to return the glare. "Have you no judgment? Do you really think that it will be as easy as you all say it is? Tell me, Clarence, have you seen war? Have you seen people you know fall, the blood draining from them, never to rise again? Have you experienced the tide of battle?" He smirked and lowered his head once more. "No, you have not."

He rolled his eyes and scoffed once more. "I'm sorry for you remembering your petty, _terrible_, past, Seer, but we have serious matters to discuss. We care not for what your eyes have seen-"

"Which is exactly why the Templar's will fall over time." He raised his cup to his mouth and let the liquid pour slowly down his throat.

"Do you not believe in us, Seer?" Clarence rose from his seat slowly and shook his head menacingly at the other man. "Do you not understand that we need all the encouragement we need for tomorrow? Are you not loy-"

"Only children need such encouragement, Clarence. It takes a true man to act without any emotional support. So sorry to ruin your self confidence, although it was just as easy as breaking a twig." He did not smile, though Seer had a victorious glint in his eyes. "If you will excuse me, B_rothers_. Forgive me, for while you are discussing how to perform intercourse and how we will miraculously rule the world, I have important duties to attend to." He rose from his seat, filled with dignity, and took leave of the room, leaving the men baffled and a very, _very_ unhappy Clarence.

Tyler scoffed and folded his arms around himself and pointed his head so that his nose was in the air. He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Psht, leave it to _him_ to ruin _everything_. Grandmaster Malcolm, why do we even need that _daft, irresponsible, weak_ excuse of a man? Surely he is just a waste of flesh."

"And surely you would not be saying those things in his presence, for you would be fearing for your _weak_ excuse of testicles." Christopher glared at Tyler and continued, "Each of us owes something to Seer. He saved our lives more than once, and I respect him greatly for that. Without him, we'd have no backbone. We would not have our weapons, our horses- nothing. He is an exceptional fighter: the best I've ever seen. And to match his strength, he has intelligence. We cannot afford to lose him, so perhaps you should start showing more courtesy toward him."

The soon-to-be groom laughed at his comrade's counterattack and shook his head, gasping between his teeth. "So, we have figured out today that you are attracted to men, but to _Seer_ specifically. Well done, Christopher! Very, _very_ impressive!" Tyler and Malcolm joined in on the laughter, and Christopher closed his eyes once again in frustration.

"And we have learned that you have absolutely _nothing_ in your head, Clarence. And I am not just talking about the head connected to your neck."

Ignoring Christopher's comment, Malcolm decided to congratulate Clarence. "We owe it to you for coming up with this marvelous plan, Clarence. It is foolproof! We owe you much- you are certainly a credit to our cause." And with that, he toasted him, Tyler raising his goblet as well. Christopher, however, decided against it.

He thought to himself, not wanting to waste his breath more than he had already done. '_Are they truly that blind? Can people really be so foolish? Are they just drunk on their own fantasies? Or- God forbid it- is it both?'_

The meeting lasted well into midnight, all the men drunk besides Christopher.

He shook his head and left the meeting room, not bothering to even say his goodbyes.

One thing he knew for sure: he wanted no part in the wedding.

'_God be with you, Maria Thorpe. God help you.'_

* * *

She whined as she lightly licked her face. She was lying down next to the sleeping woman and desperately trying to find some way to let her know that morning had finally arrived.

Belle continued licking her face, but the only response she got was the woman murmuring.

"Mm..." she smiled in her sleep and turned her head to the side. "Altair..."

Belle cocked her head to the side in confusion, not knowing what an 'Altair' was. She whined once more and licked her nose.

"Damn Assassin... trying... sleep..."

She huffed and wedged her nose between the woman's side and arm and into her armpit. Belle made the mistake of inhaling and sneezed.

The woman frowned from the goo being shot through her armpit and slowly opened her eyes. At first, she expected the licking to be Altair, but then she decided that he would definitely not try to wake her up by sneezing on her. Adjusting to the light of the room, she saw her dog staring at her and whining quietly.

Maria rolled her eyes and scratched Belle's head. She sat up in her bed, resting her weight on her elbows, and blushed when the sheets came off of her body. She was only wearing her undergarments, for she liked the feel of the silky smooth blankets across her skin. It reminded her so much of—

She blushed a deeper shade of pink and shook her head, scowling and muttering curses. Belle reached up and lightly licked her cheek, reminding her that there was a dog in need of attention in the room. The canine gave a look that resembled a contented smile as the fur behind her ears were being scratched. She thumped her leg from the attention, not at all acting like the war dog she was.

Just then, the sun shone through the curtains of her room and onto Maria, as if she were some holy angel. She scoffed at the thought and laid down back in bed, absently petting Belle's head.

"What to do on this beautiful Friday morning..." She let her thoughts trail off as she thought of the possibilities. She could take a walk with Belle around the estate, do some shopping, sharpen Ebony and Ivory...

"There are just so many options on Friday-"

Friday.

The word made her freeze and her breathing stop. She widened her eyes and became ghostly pale. After five seconds, the shock wore off enough for her to sit bolt right up in the bed, startling Belle in the process. She swung her legs over the side and quickly got dressed.

"Augh, _dammit_!" She cursed as she ripped open her closet door. "_The wedding!_ Oh, Belle, how could I have forgotten?" Maria smacked her forehead in frustration, her mind going blank. "Clothes.. right... clothes.. clothes!" She shook her head and slumped to the floor. "Clothes.."

Belle trotted over to her and nudged her cheek in understanding. She shuffled through the closet with her nose until she found a pair of black trousers and a white tunic for her. Turning back to Maria with the clothes in her mouth, she practically shoved the garments into her face.

"Thank you, Belle.." the woman shook her head and rummaged through the drawers of her nightstand until she found a pair of stockings. She'd never admit that her pride was wounded from a dog helping her dress.

She quickly pulled them on over her feet and legs, and then dressed into her tunic and pants. Shoving her feet into her boots, she quickly ran downstairs.

Belle stood there in her room perplexed. Sure, she was dressed, but she hadn't even looked at herself in the mirror. She had a serious case of bedhead, her hair once again having its own personality and her normally smooth curls in a crumpled mess. Belle sighed and walked after Maria.

As Maria made her way down the stairs, she was thankful that she always kept a band around her wrist on her at all times. She knew how troublesome her hair could be, and she mechanically tied her hair up into a bun. '_I wonder what the others are doing... Oh, I hope I didn't wake up too late—curse all villains!_'

She made her way to the kitchen, lightly panting, and saw Aden situated at the table drinking tea. She sighed, for Aden was an early riser.

She walked over to him and sat down across from him.

"Good morning," he had his eyes closed as he drank the pleasantly hot tea. It came from Syrian leaves, and Maria knew that it was a reminder of his homeland- the only _pleasant_ reminder of his homeland, that is.

"Morning," she looked out of the window, and then back to Aden. "What hour is it?"

"The ninth bell just rang probably a few minutes ago. Don't worry, we have three more bells until noon, Maria. I'll wake the others up in an hour so they have time to prepare."

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. "They're still asleep?"

He sighed, "Apparently, Damiel was up talking with Benjamin. And Zaina and Olivia were having one of their 'girl nights'." Aden shook his head, unable to grasp the concept of females. Sure, everyone needed to tell someone their feelings, but a few times he had past their room and heard somewhat disturbing talks about how 'that man was so handsome' or that 'Damiel wasn't such a bad person'. It disturbed him even more when he discovered that Zaina had said that about Damiel.

"Ah." Maria sighed and instantly relaxed. At least everyone had an enjoyable evening. Reaching behind him to the counter, Aden grabbed a plate of biscuits and butter and handed them to Maria. She ate in silence, and Belle soon joined them to sit at Aden's feet, waiting for her food. He knew that she was patient when it came to breakfast and that she would wait until he was done with his tea.

But today, Belle was not patient. She began chewing on his shoes, obviously hungry. Sighing, he gulped down his remaining tea and prepared her meal of raw meat.

The distraction from his home gave him time to think. He noticed that there was some color in Maria's face, and that there was a slight shimmer in her eye- or was that just the sunlight? He shook his head and placed the plate of meat on the floor for Belle.

And then his blonde beauty came to mind.

He prayed to Allah that she was safe and sound.

As if she was reading his thoughts, Maria commented, "I'm worried about her too, Aden, make no mistake in that. But you must have faith in her. She knows what she is doing. She's an adult, and she's able to look after herself. Believe me, she knows how to look after herself quite well." She smiled gently at him as he hung his head low. "And there will be no more underestimating her abilities, alright? She's alive- _I know she's alive_." Though, how she knew, or if she even knew, she was not quite sure.

Aden sighed and nodded his head slowly. "You are right.." He sat down next to her and rested his face in his hands, slouching over the table. "Do you know why I am so attracted to her?"

"Obvious reasons, no?"

He shook his head inside of his hands. "No, that is not what draws me in, Maria." Even without her prying, he continued, "All of my life, I'd had such demanding responsibilities. My parents died when I was but six years of age. Zaina was but an infant; barely two weeks old. I had to look after her as well as myself." He slid his hands down so they rested underneath his chin. His green eyes, so similar to Zaina's, were not in this world. They were remembering the hardships he had to endure in the blistering heat of Damascus. "Do you want to know how hard it is looking after a baby when you yourself were simply a child? That you yourself had not one coin on your person and had to result to stealing just to keep what was left of your family alive?" He sighed and shook his head sadly. "You have no idea, Maria."

"I don't see how this ties in with Hildegard, Aden."

Aden continued, satisfying the woman's curiosity. "When I was older, I lacked self esteem. Because the only people I could trust were Zaina and myself, I had to learn how to survive- through stealing _and_ killing. I grew to be quite good at killing people, Maria. But, I began to wonder, was killing people my only purpose? Was I just supposed to be a fighting machine? Was my life's destiny to be my sister's bodyguard? For years, I prayed to have someone like me come into my life and be my friend. I gave up everything to live.

"I was born into a wealthy family, but that was all stripped away from me when my parents died. No one wanted me, and I didn't want anyone besides Zaina. I lost my friends- some I was even forced to kill. I only had Zaina. She was what kept me alive all those years. And then Majd Addin took me in as his bodyguard. I soon became a Templar, and I was happy. For the first time in my life, I was _happy_. I had money, I had a roof over my head, and I could support my family. I thought it couldn't have gotten any better, but then Zaina was taken from me by that damn executioner.

"He believed that I was not faithful. Thus he used Zaina to blackmail me. He threatened that if I showed any signs of betrayal to the Templar's, he would throw her to his men and let them have their way with her. Zaina was developed enough to be considered a woman, I couldn't let that happen to her.

"And then I met Hildegard. I knew at first sight that she was not a virgin- do not ask how," he raised his hand when Maria opened her mouth to question him, "It is just something every man can tell. I admit, I did think her quite beautiful, but a virgin is the most beautiful thing a man could ever have. I had seen many beautiful women in my life, but until I met Hildegard, I didn't understand the hardships of it.

"As they say, it pays to be beautiful. I learned how she had forsaken everything- her body, her virginity, her pride, love, and future. She gave all of that up just to live- just to keep breathing. It reminded me so much of how I gave up much of my own attributes to keep Zaina alive. I admired Hildegard for it. That admiration slowly turned into friendship, and that friendship soon turned into something else. Perhaps it is love? I do not know, for I only learned love through my family. I only ever loved Zaina as a sister, and if this is love, then it has many, many shades. And now, Hildegard is gone, along with my heart."

Maria listened intently, sipping her tea. She set the cup down and placed her hand on his shoulder. "We're best friends, you know- Hildegard and I."

He nodded and closed his eyes, somewhat thankful for the physical contact. He felt that he was about to crumble and fall to pieces at any given moment.

Maria shook her head and smiled as she recalled how they became friends. "She always mocked me and insulted me. I always thought she was rude until she right out screamed at me that she was uneasy around women, that she had only been with men her entire life, be it in bed or in the fighting ring. She was jealous of me, Aden. She was jealous that, in her own words, 'someone so beautiful and charming and intelligent could be a virgin woman'.

"Hildegard wondered why she wasn't like me: a virgin. Aden, she would give anything to be one again. She still mocked me after that confession though, but I quieted her with sarcasm. It's the deadliest weapon, it seems. We began respecting each other, and we became sisters. Inseparable sisters."

Aden was about to reply when a rather sleepy Damiel walked in on them and plopped himself ungracefully into a chair opposite of Maria. He folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them, obviously tired. He was used to sleeping in, and waking up this early was just out of the question.

Maria stood up and patted him lightly on the back and smiled at him, but her grin disappeared as she looked back to Aden. He was once again covering his face with his hands, kneading his temples. He was grieved. He was stressed that he could not show that grief, for he had to be strong for Zaina. He had to be strong to protect Maria with their strategy. He had to be strong for the entire Rose.

The question was, could he do it?

* * *

Translations:

_mi amigo: _my friend


	7. Chapter 6

The woman kept her breathing synchronized with the ship's rocking to and fro. She had her eyes closed, lost in thought, somewhat aware of the other passengers talking amongst each other while the children ran excitedly across the boat.

She had her face twisted in a frown with her eyebrows furrowed together. She couldn't recall as to why she was thinking about her past, it was just one of those things a person had no control over...

* * *

_"Brother! Brother, wait!" _

_The girl ran through the bloodied hallways of her house, blinded by her blonde hair clinging to her face due to sweat and the red, gooey liquid. Her clothes were torn and filth littered her normally pretty face, but she could not care less. She had just witnessed something horrible; something that a child should never witness. She saw how the hooded man cloaked in white had brought the blade down on her father's neck... Her mother's scream, and then her silence as the blade soon found her as well..._

_The figure that was her brother ran faster and farther away from her. He had the advantage since he was older than her and since his legs were longer. His younger sister did not want to be left alone- not after what had just happened- but he could not bring himself to face her. He, too, saw his parents die._

_She slipped on the floor, falling to her knees. She quickly brought herself back up, her small, adolescent muscles screaming in protest all the while. She had to see her brother... she just had to..._

_He ran out of the house and through the courtyard. He never looked back, just kept running away from the scene and away from his sister. How could he look at her after what had just happened? In the short amount of time that had passed since his parents were killed, he had forced himself to believe that it was _her_ fault mother and father died. After all, if she had listened to them instead of rampaging around the house, they would never have had their back turned to the door... they would have seen the man..._

_"Brother! Please, please! I-" She tripped on her own feet and was sent sprawling face first into the cobblestones. The girl cried out in pain as one of the coarse stones made contact with her cheek and sliced it open. She looked up weakly at her brother, thankful that he had finally stopped running. Slowly, as if he was reluctant to, he turned around and made his way over to his sister. There was something wrong with his stride, though. It wasn't the fear and shock that she was experiencing now; no, it was anything but that. It was... pride._

_He knelt down in front of her and brought her chin up with his hands and stroked her bloodied cheek gently. "Shh, shh.. it is alright, it is alright.." He smiled gently at his fallen sister and pulled her into an embrace._

_She sniffed and clung to him. "Make... make it stop, brother... make them come back..." She buried her head into his shoulder and sobbed her grief, hoping that he would be able to bring her parents back._

_"Hildegard," he pulled her away from himself and looked at her directly in the eyes. His face was cold and offered no sympathy for the girl. "You still love brother, don't you?"_

_She choked and stared at him. Why would he be asking her such a thing?_

_"Answer me," he tightened his grip on her shoulders and gave her the faintest of frowns._

_She choked and nodded once. "I will always love you, Clar-"_

_"Even if what I tell you now disgusts you?"_

_"What... what do you mean?" She tilted her head to the side in confusion._

_He squeezed her shoulders even more and rested his chin on top of her head. She squirmed not only from being held so tightly, but from the fact the torn cloth on her shoulders was now wet with-_

_She gasped when she looked down at herself. "Brother, you're bleeding!"_

_"No, Hildegard.." he mumbled into her hair, looking up at the night sky. How wrong it was for the night to be so beautiful when he had done something so terrible._

_She tried to pull herself away from her sibling, but he only held her closer from her efforts. "Father told me to protect the family, Hildegard.."_

_The girl shook her head, not understanding what he was trying to say. "I know-"_

_"He told me to keep you and Ermen safe... and so I did."_

_She looked up at him in wonder. "You did? How?"_

_He leaned back so that she was no longer in his arms and held his hands out in front of himself. "I killed them, Hildegard..." He slowly brought his eyes up to her face with a small smile stretched across his lips. Her look of horror- how her eyes bulged out of her head, her skin becoming pale, her mouth twitching in disbelief- only made the smile grow. "I killed them, sister.."_

_"N-no.." she shook her head slowly. It couldn't be true! It... it couldn't!_

_"Yes, Hildegard. Mother and Father are dead because of me. I had to; to protect you and Ermen." He lifted her chin up. His fingers left a smear of her parents' blood on her skin. "What they were planning... it had to be stopped. Hildegard-"_

_"NO!" She tore herself away from her brother, heavily panting as if she had just ran miles and miles. "NO, NO, NO!"_

_Her brother shook his head and grabbed her arm, twisting it. She cried out in pain as the skin was tormented in such a way. "Yes, I killed them. Nothing you do or say can bring them-"_

_Without warning, the small girl brought her fist back and introduced her brother's face to it. He let go of her arm as he clutched his now black eye and she raced out of the courtyard. He killed them... He killed mommy and daddy..._

_Their blood.. it was on her.. she'd be framed as the killer._

_'They're dead they're dead they're dead they're dead they're dead they're dead they're dead they're dead...'_

_"THEY'RE DEAD, HILDEGARD! YOU BITCH OF A SISTER! IT'S _YOUR_ FAULT!" And then, as the rock connected with the back of her head, everything went black..._

_

* * *

_

Hildegard slowly opened her eyes from her flashback. Why she would ever think of her past when her sole mission was to confront Maria's lover, she'd never know. The steady rocking of the boat did little to soothe her from her memories. True, Hildegard was a strong woman, but she couldn't explain why she always felt nauseous from the motion.

She was leaning on the boat's rail, idly looking out to sea. She did her best to not look at the other passengers, especially the men, for it was their fault she had resorted to wearing trousers and a simple tunic. Hildegard didn't dare wear a dress while ill-thoughted men were nearby.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. The blonde beauty couldn't be distracted with her own history; no, she had other things to worry about. Hildegard dug her fist into one of her trousers' pockets and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. Smoothing the parchment out with her hands, a picture of Maria embroidered by roses stared back at her. She had found this picture in her lover's personal journal when she had dropped by the Chapel of St. Mary to say hello to her friend. She doubted the man had any further use for the journal, so he should not be too angry to find that one of his pages had been ripped out. After all, this was her proof to him that she indeed knew who Maria was and that she was not lying when she confronted the Assassin. It was the truth etched into paper.

'_I wonder how the others are doing,_' she mused in her head. Deep down, she felt awful for leaving them without any notice, but knew it was for the best. '_I could have at least said goodbye... I wonder what I should have even __said to them.'_

She chuckled despite herself, imagining what she would have said to each of them in turn. '_Damiel, I hope you can be a good boy and control your damn hormones. Benjamin, oh Benjamin, I thank you for everything you've done for me, and I am truly sorry that I could never do anything for you. Zaina, please don't cry for me, dearie. Olivia, I am so sorry for always ordering you around like a dog. Maria, forgive me for doing this- forgive me as an ally and as your best friend. Aden, I am sorry to cause you to worry, I do hope you will find a woman who is able to provide you with her body and with children.'_

Hildegard shook her head and sighed once more. She didn't even know if she would ever return to London, let alone leave Masyaf once she had told the Assassin of Maria. Sometimes, she wished she had her old life back again. Things were much simpler when she had her sister, Ermengard, and her brother around. Dismissing their faces from her head, she wondered if the Assassin would kill her. She was, after all, a former Templar. He would definitely slay her once she set foot onto his territory.

'_A pity that the one you try to help would be the one to kill you.'_ She rolled her eyes. She was a bit frightened of death- no, she was terrified of dying. Part of her told her to scream at the captain of the ship to turn around so that she could return to London safe and sound, but the more dominant half of her kept her rooted to the boat. Her friendship with Maria was more important than her life, and so she had to do this. She had to do this for Maria. At least _she_ would have a chance at a normal life with a husband and children- a _family_.

She quickly returned the picture of Maria back inside her pocket when she noticed a man making his way over to her. He was middle-aged, much like Benjamin, judging by his wrinkles and gray beard. He stood next to her and pulled a pipe out and began casually smoking on it. '_That can't be good for you.._'

She averted her gaze back to the ocean. It was impolite to stare at someone, and even though she didn't know the man, she didn't want to have a bad first impression.

He gnawed on the end of his pipe lightly with his teeth, his eyes closed with contentment from having a chance to relax and lose himself in the toxins.

"Now, why is a pretty lass like you venturin' on a ship a'one, hmm?" He opened one eye to look at Hildegard and blew the smoke out of his mouth as he spoke his words. "Such a thing can be dang'rous for a pretty 'ace like yers."

Hildegard remained stoic and kept a calm demeanor. "My good man, I am simply sailing for my death."

He chuckled, obviously thinking she was trying to jest with him. "Ahh, I see, such an adventure contents young ones nowadays. 'Owever, seniors, such as my'elf are content watching the world and 'er events." He turned to look at her and inhaled into his pipe, "Care to 'ear some news?"

She smiled warmly at him and nodded. Perhaps she could gain valuable information from him.

" 'Ell, there's not much goin' on, ta tell you the truth, pretty lass. Robberies, crimes, politics, economic crises, 'tis the same e'ery year."

He continued babbling on and on, and Hildegard continued to pretend she was listening. To show he had her 'undivided attention', she'd answer with the occasional "oh, really?" and the often "I was not aware of such a thing!"

Half an hour must have past, and she was bored to the pits of Hell. He was a very nice person, but he just would _not be quiet!_ Could he not take the hint that she was being tortured by his speaking?

She resorted to thinking back to her friends and even had the nerve to remove her eyes from him and to stare back out to the sea.

That is, she _was_ bored until he brought up a particularly interesting topic.

"Tell me, missy, you 'eard of the wedding today?"

In answer, Hildegard shook her head and questioned him on the wedding.

"Well, it's probably only the biggest event in London!" He looked absolutely shocked that she would not have heard of the wedding. "In fact, it took place at noon- 'bout 3 bells ago."

"Who was to be wed, my friend?"

He shushed her with a wave of his hand. "Pah, a woman none too special. That Maria Thorpe married today." He took Hildegard's silence as astonishment, and pressed on, "Now, I don't mean to gossip, but it just doesn't seem right to me, lass. I don't know 'ether to say that her husband is a lucky man, or an unfor'unate one. Ye see, Maria isn't exactly what we folks call pure- there 'ave been rumors that she had an affair with some dangerous man. Not only that, but she's a bit.. ill looking, from what I've 'eard. Hasn't been out of that chapel for a year, can't be good fer ya." He looked back at the woman and smirked. " 'Ey, lass, there's no need to look like you've just seen the devil 'imself."

"Oh, but I think I have, sir.." She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. "Please... continue..."

He scoffed, but complied. "Now, why Clarence would want such a woman, I have no idea, and I have no intention of findin' out-"

"_Clarence?_" Hildegard stared at him and had her mouth slightly open in disbelief. "_Maria and Clarence married today?"_

The man looked baffled, but nodded slowly. "Yes, miss, they did. Now, on ta more important matters-"

"No. I thank you for your time. Please, excuse me." She did not wait for him to say another word before she turned on her heel to the other side of the boat. Alarms were ringing inside of her head, demanding that she return to London and see for herself if this was true or not.

She paced back and forth the length of the ship, shaking her head vigorously and rubbing her arms up and down. '_Like I did not have enough on my hands already! What am I going to tell the Assassin? 'I'm sorry, sir, but it seems that Maria has been grieving for you for a year and now she's married to a Templar.' Lord, help me!'_ She huffed and balled her hands into fists. '_Surely the Rose knows of this wedding... they... they have to._

_But if they don't...'_ Hildegard gulped, not wanting to know what may happen to Maria. '_Benjamin, I hope you're hot on their trail.'_

_

* * *

_

She glared at her escort from underneath her hood, her head slightly bent so that any folk passing by would not have the misfortune of seeing the hate in her eyes. How any man could possibly want to have their share of work in this wicked plan of Clarence's, she'd never know. They did not care for what happened to her; they were only concerned if their purses were heavy with coin.

Maria rolled her eyes at the agonizingly slow pace the man was walking. Was this an insult to her? Was it because she hadn't been out of the chapel for a year and that he expected her to be a cripple? She sighed and shook her head slightly. _Pathetic man._

She tilted her head up to peer at the rooftops of the buildings surrounding her, but immediately regretted it when sunlight took the advantage of pouring mercilessly into her eyes. Maria squinted and grumbled under her breath. It burned to a point where she wanted to cry. Blinking, she cleared away the light dancing across her vision. '_It's your own damned fault, foolish woman.'_ She sighed once more and decided glaring at the escort would have to satisfy her boredom for the time being. '_Best get used to the light.'_

She paid little to no attention to the occasional attempts at conversation he tried striking with her. If he was working for Clarence, then he was working with the Templar's, and Maria had had her share of that faction. She did not even bother to answer him when he had asked her questions. And oh, his look of disappointment when she did not answer sent a grim smirk across her lips.

Only the barely audible sound of someone skidding to a halt claimed her attention as she perked her head up. She knew without a doubt that it was a member of the Rose, and she didn't dare take the risk of turning her head to the side to steal a glance at whoever it was. That would compromise their status, no doubt.

She smiled beneath her cloak. At least she knew the others were on the move. Aden and Benjamin were probably taking up their positions right about then at the designated alleyway, waiting until Maria escaped the chapel and made her way to them. Olivia and Zaina were most likely on the rooftops, not risking being caught by guards on patrol. Maria smirked when she thought of the guards that faced Olivia's arrows. It was unexplainable how much excellence she had in the skill of marksmanship. And Damiel was probably-

'_He probably went back to bed... That good for nothing goblin.._' Maria grumbled several profanities under her breath and rolled her eyes. She loved Damiel very much, both as a brother and comrade, but sometimes he was too much for her to handle. Were she to have any sons, she prayed to the heavens that they would not be like Damiel.

Maria looked up toward the escort as he suddenly stopped in front of a colossal of a church. It had beautiful architecture that resembled those of the Greeks and Romans. Some would have been surprised, but Maria had been living in a chapel of the same structure for the past year. She gave a brief glance at the escort and entered the church.

Surprisingly, it held a comfortable atmosphere. '_Is Clarence trying to insult me by this?'_ She looked at the candles that gave the building a dull, warm glow. There were priests hunched over the altar giving silent prayers and they mumbled to each other when they were finished. Maria's gaze swept to the small group of people at the pew farthest from her. They were completely oblivious as to what was to happen later on. They smiled at each other, waved their hands as they spoke, and were enjoying their simple conversation. Simple. How much Maria longed for a simple life.

She shook her head and entered the undercroft. The room was brighter in here, and she was disgusted with what she saw. Laid out on a table was the dress she was to wear. Maria picked the cloth up and scowled. It was white silk, beautiful silk, but it wasn't what Maria had in mind. It was much too revealing for her tastes, even if it would compliment her figure. '_Damn you, Clarence._' She dreaded the fact of how women had to obey even to the man's choice in what dress they were to wear on _their_ wedding. It must be so humiliating for them to have the eyes of their closest friends and family on them as they traipsed down the aisle in such an indecent dress. It must be even _more_ embarrassing for them to kiss a man that they would never love, for arranged marriages were just too common.

The woman thought of what her dress would have been like if she refused Damiel's and Benjamin's request to return to London. She most likely would have married Altair, for they shared a bond words could not describe. Oh, how beautiful her dress would have been. She would have completely refused to wear any English garment and demanded she'd wear an Arabic style dress, even if he would raise all Hell in his objections. And for their wedding night, they'd share the evening not as lovers, but as husband and wife-

Maria shook her head vigorously, clearing her head of such thoughts. She ground her teeth together and her scowl deepened. '_Forget about him, Maria. It is obvious as day and night that he only really desired a physical relationship and nothing more.'_ She felt a peculiar pang spread to her eyes. Curious, she lifted a hand up to touch her cheek and gasped inwardly. She was crying. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, ridding herself of the tears. '_Now is not the time.. how can you be so weak to let a _man_ affect you so?'_

Maria was weak, though. She could face death in battle, acquire injuries during combat, lose ones she loved during war, but she could not live with her heart torn in two. '_Is this just me, or does every woman who experiences what I have go through this... this emptiness? This feeling of regret? This disgusting, dreadful thought of being a whore?'_ She sighed and shook her head slowly. Closing her eyes, she willed the tears to vanish.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard footsteps approaching her. Turning around, she smiled when she saw Olivia and Zaina in the doorway. Zaina giggled from seeing the disapproving look Maria gave her dress and approached the woman. Olivia gave a simple nod and a brief smile to Maria, and then she left the undercroft.

"The others are all ready, Maria," Zaina began as she gave the woman a light pat on the arm, "Benny and Aden are waiting for you at the alley as we speak." She gave a slight frown as Maria put the dress down and hugged the Arab girl. Her frown, however, quickly disappeared as she wrapped her own arms around Maria. She knew she liked this woman for a reason.

"You've proven yourself a true friend, Zaina. I am deeply sorry we have not spoken much." Maria pulled away and grinned gently at her. "I do wish to speak more with you after this is over." Perhaps she'd even persuade the girl that women could be as strong as a man any day of the week.

Zaina nodded and beamed at the older woman. "I look forward to that, m'lady."

They quickly changed into their outfits: Zaina putting the dress on and Maria wearing Zaina's own attire. The Englishwoman squirmed uncomfortably in it. It was slightly too tight for her, but she'd manage, and although she didn't like the fact Zaina loved wearing britches that only went down to her knees, she deemed it was necessary. Putting her cloak on, Maria tugged the hood over her face and headed up the stairs to the main portion of the church.

She gulped when she saw the people present. It seemed the number of spectators had not doubled, but _tripled_ from when she first arrived. She took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows. '_How would _he _do it..?'_ She willed her mind to recall all the times she had witnessed Altair approach an enemy in broad daylight without being detected. His feet seemed to automatically know where to go, how much pressure each step should need. Mimicking his stance, she slowly made her way to the entrance of the church. She let out her breath she did not know she had been holding when she was once again outside of the building. '_Now, time for the real challenge...'_

_

* * *

_

The Master of the Assassins laid sound asleep at the Masyaf stronghold. Deep in the back of his mind, he knew that he should have been out of bed already and at his study gathering information on the Templar's and Apple of Eden, but yet he could not will himself to wake up. He was thankful that he had the mind to put up the canopy curtains around his bed so that morning's rays of light could not wake him from his slumber. His canine companion, Bayo, was sleeping comfortably next to him on the bed, his leg twitching from a good dream, most likely about tearing a person's head off while in battle. The two of them were both exhausted from yesterday's training.

However, while Bayo was in the embrace of a pleasant dream, Altair was experiencing quite the opposite.

He was walking through a forest thick with trees and bushes of all sorts. Such a place was not found in the dry deserts of the Holy Land, so he assumed he was in a completely different country. Altair held a calm stride, a small smile gracing his lips as he walked through the thicket. The leaves crunched noisily under his feet, and normally he'd be concerned of becoming detected by an enemy, but something about this forest told him that there was nothing to fear.

'_Is this paradise...?'_

He knew that he was not in Masyaf, and he briefly wondered where he was then, but dismissed it completely. He did not mind becoming lost in such a beautiful place. Looking up, he noticed that the sky was not even of the human world. It was as if someone had taken the most beautiful of pastels and painted over the normal cerulean sky. There were different shades of oranges, reds, yellows, purples- _gorgeous._

He moved his gaze to the floor of the forest and tilted his head to the side slightly. Laid out in front of him was a path of small stones. _What was this dream trying to tell him, if anything?_ Altair sighed and followed the path. It led him to an area where the trees and beautiful plants suddenly stopped. The land was open with only grass of a luscious green growing. He frowned and looked ahead of himself. There was a calm stream running through the center of the field.

He made his way to the cheerful blue stream and sat down at the bank. The sound of running water calmed his entire body, and he sighed contently, closing his eyes. When was the last time he had ever enjoyed the feeling of true peace? The only sounds were of his own breathing, the water running, that awkward gurgling sound-

Altair frowned and slowly opened his eyes, irked that he was being disturbed. However, his face became a mask of horror as the stream was no longer a small creek, but an _ocean_. He stood up abruptly and noticed with terror that he was surrounded by water. The land he was standing on was barely large enough for his own two feet, and the feeling of dread slowly crept throughout his entire body. His eyes swept desperately across the water. He frowned when he saw something dark underneath the surface. He squinted and leaned over as far as he could without tumbling head first into the water that was no longer a calming blue.

'_Is that... a body?'_ He shook his head slowly, not believing what he was seeing. He could have _sworn_ he was the only person at the stream- or should he say ocean? As if the water was trying to show him who it was, the body slowly resurfaced, allowing only the head to briefly pop out of the murky water. The person's head lolled to the side to face Altair, and he gasped.

'_MARIA!'_ He shook his head vigorously and reached into the water with his arm to pull her out. It was useless though. She was drifting farther and farther away from him. To add to his frightened stage, the water suddenly swarmed up his arm, trying to pull him down under. Altair quickly retracted his arm and sprawled backwards.

He was terrified. All his life, he had been afraid of water. It held no place in his heart, but yet the woman who was drowning did. He shook himself free of his fears for a brief moment, and dove into the dark abyss.

The Assassin pumped his muscles with all the energy he had in his body, but no matter how hard he swam, Maria seemed to be getting farther and farther away...

His body told him to resurface and to gather air, but when he tried, the water crushed him back down into its deathly grasp. He felt as if his lungs were going to burst, the pressure was overwhelming him! It was not the peaceful, gradual deprivation of life, but too fast and too sickening. He felt his body not responding to his will, the water dragging him further and further down, the bitter feeling of letting Maria die because of him...

* * *

Bayo looked curiously at his master who was now sweating uncontrollably in his sleep. His teeth were gritted together and his muscles tense, his brow slick with perspiration. The dog crawled over to Altair and licked his cheek. When he did not gain a response, he whined and nudged him. Altair merely gasped and shook his head, still in his nightmare's grasp.

Bayo sighed and buried his head under Altair's arm so that it draped over his back, and drilled his wet nose into the Assassin's neck. However, he made the mistake of inhaling the sweat that covered the flesh, and sneezed a gooey spray onto him.

Altair moaned and slowly opened his eyes. Due to the canopy, he could only see black and thought that he really _was_ drowning, but after a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He made out Bayo looking at him with a perplexed stare. Altair sighed and shook his head. '_Only a dream..'_

He wiped his forehead and the back of his neck, but frowned when he felt something sticky on it. He raised an eyebrow at Bayo who had a devilish smile on his furry face. '_Of course...'_

The canine whined and licked Altair's cheek once more. Although he was just an animal and did not know what dream he had just experienced, he was still concerned for his well being. Altair gave a reassuring pat to his head and opened the canopy curtains. He regretted it when sunlight shot straight into his eyes. He groaned and shut the curtains again. He was slightly aware of the shuffling of feet in his room, and then-

"Rise and shine, sleeping novice!" Malik joyously chanted as he ripped open the curtains and laughed when he saw Altair's face twisted into a scowl with his eyes screwed shut. "Really, how much beauty sleep do you need- considering that you are _never_ beautiful?"

The Master growled and sat at the edge of the bed and glared at Malik. He was still angry over the letters, and _now_ he was angry that the man had the nerve to wake him from his slumber. He dearly wanted to sleep the day away...

His furry friend hopped out of bed and stretched his limbs out. He yawned and looked expectantly at Malik when his stomach growled. The one-armed man laughed and scratched the dog between the ears.

"Come now, Altair, get out of bed already! The world doesn't stop just because the Master wishes to sleep!" He threw his friend an annoyed look as he curled up back into the covers. He threw his hand into the air with annoyance and left to go prepare Bayo's breakfast, the dog following him obediently.

After a few moments, Altair sighed and began getting dressed. Mimicking Bayo, his stomach growled from lack of food. Altair frowned and looked out the window of his chambers. '_Perhaps the cooks saved me some bread...'_

Fully dressed in a kameez and new pair of shalwars, he made his way down to the kitchens with a spring in his step. He saluted the guards at their posts with a small appreciative nod. A few hallways from his designated location, his stomach let off another growl as the aroma of baked bread made its way to his nostrils. '_I do hope there's some left...'_

To his dismay, he discovered that the novices had claimed the last pieces of bread. The Master sighed when the servants and cooks began fluttering around to prepare him a meal, but he dismissed them. It was his own fault that he didn't come down sooner to eat, and he did not wish to burden his people with the task of tending to him. He left the fortress to visit the marketplace. '_Maybe there's some feta cheese and pita bread for sale...'_

Making his way to the marketplace, he was once again lost in his thoughts. What _was_ that dream? Did it mean something, if anything at all? Was it a warning? A foreshadowing?

Altair shook his head. He never did believe in superstition, however alluring it seemed. The only object that proved superstition partially correct was the Piece of Eden. However, he began remembering of a time when Maria told him something important about dreams. Ahh, what was it...?

"_Dreams sometimes are encrypted messages for us, Altair. Don't be afraid to trust your own mind." She paused and gulped. "It took me years to realize that for myself- something that my uncle always told me when I was a child."_

He sighed from thinking of her. It sent pure terror through him when he witnessed her drowning in his dream. Her skin... so pale... the color of death itself. He was launched back into reality when he breathed in the scent of baked bread. Following his nose, he purchased his cheese and pita and no sooner found himself sitting at a secluded bench, eating his breakfast.

He was never one to eat in crowds; that many eyes on a person when he ate disturbed him greatly. Quickly finishing his meal and earning a content stomach, he past several other stalls to make his way back to the fortress.

However, something caught the Assassin's eye- or, rather, a _color_ caught his eye. He frowned and made his way over to the stall. It wasn't anything special, but to him, it meant the world. Resting on the counter was a belt. It was made of dark grey chains and smooth, light grey, circular metal disks linked together by the chains. Connected to the side of the belt were two pieces of silk: one black as midnight and the other a dark navy blue. Altair was entranced by the garment. The grey reminded him so much of...

'_Maria's eyes...'_

Without even thinking, he purchased it from the vendor. What good would it do him, though? Maria was not even with him to receive the gift. He ground his teeth together and practically marched back to the castle, infuriated with the thought of how easily he let her slip through his fingers.

* * *

Malik looked up from the bookshelf he was examining and gave Altair a brief smile as he saw him approaching. Bayo as well seemed happy to see him again, as he wagged his tail and sat obediently next to the Master's desk. Malik gave him a curious stare as he saw the belt in his hands and raised an eyebrow in question. "Found yourself a new strangling device, my friend?"

Altair held back the urge to roll his eyes at his comrade and simply ignored Malik's banter. He sat down at his desk and began shuffling through papers, filling out the ones necessary. Bayo laid down over his feet and patiently waited until he was done. They both had plans to train with one another in the ring once more. But, until then, the Assassin was forced to be content with work, work, and more work.

Malik sighed and shook his head. '_The man will be the death of himself, I swear it.'_ He left the study and began making his rounds throughout the fortress.

* * *

Maria made sure her hood was always covering her face as she walked away from the church. She was almost at the designated alley, but she couldn't help the feeling that she was being watched. No one had confronted her yet so far, but she doubted that was about to last. After all, she _was_ the victim in the Templar's game.

* * *

"Ryan Mills attending the wedding, sir," Damiel gave the guard a lopsided grin and cocked his head to the side. Hopefully the guard would buy the innocent expression. Sure enough, he did.

"Ahh, Benjamin's boy, eh? Well, go, go! You're practically the guest of honor, sir!" The guard ushered Damiel in with a wave of his hands. The foreign boy nodded in thanks, but smirked and snorted when he entered the church. He and Benjamin looked _nothing_ alike, yet the guard believed him! It was amusing to the teenager. The fact that he obviously _was not_ English and that Benjamin was a well known figure had him chuckle and shake his head in wonder.

While Benjamin's hair was bordering on blonde and brown, Damiel's was a dark brown, almost black, and curly, several of the locks falling down in front of his forehead. It was no longer than his jaw, yet it had enough volume not to stick to his skin as if it was pasted there with sweat. Even _he_ had to admit he was fairly handsome, and no doubt that he would grow to be even more alluring the older he got. Maria had told him it was her worst fear that he grew over confident with his looks and began losing his common sense- if he had any, that was.

Damiel strode casually over to the pew in the back right-hand corner of the church and sat down with the grace of a choking camel. He shifted his feet underneath the bench, searching for his precious partner. A smile slowly spread across his face as he felt Riva underneath him. '_Good job, Olivia,'_

He leaned back into his seat and crossed his leg over the over, impatiently twitching his foot. All he had to do was sit back and wait... and be patient. The others present at the church scowled at the boy and frowned at his behavior. Little did they know that he was not exactly fond of churches. The nine and ten year old merely smirked at them and bit his thumb in their direction. The onlookers gasped, appalled that he would have the nerve to curse in a House of God.

He sighed and shook his head. '_I don't give a damn about what 'God' thinks of me.'_

_

* * *

_

Stationed at the southern gates of London, the German woman kept an expert vigil out for guards. She set her gaze on one dozing off while on the job. She shook her head disgustedly and drew her bow back and inhaled. '_Just remember how Emily taught you, Olivia...'_ She released the arrow, and as soon as the head made contact with the man's chest, realization and chaos occurred.

* * *

The clashing of swords was all she heard while her mind was focused in the battle. Maria had rendezvoused with Benjamin and Aden, and, no sooner had the three of them stepped out of the alley, had guards on patrol attacked them.

Although she had lost a year of training, she still had the upper hand as she had more experience than these men. She made sure to stay by Benjamin's side in case he could not hold his own out. She deflected an incoming blow from one of the guards, causing him to stumble. She took the opportunity to make a clean swipe across his chest, taking him out of the brawl.

Benjamin grumbled unintelligibly under his breath, something about 'handling his own fights', but Maria barely heard him. She looked ahead of her to where Aden was, and smiled. He was killing the guards as if he'd be rewarded one hundred virgins. Aden knew what tactics the guards would use and he quickly dispatched of them with ease, clearing the way for Benjamin and Maria.

* * *

The Arab's younger sister, though, was walking down the aisle to a man completely unaware of who she was. Zaina gulped and took her place beside the man at the altar. '_So, this is Clarence...'_ She squinted her eyes and tried to see clearly through the veil covering her face. She swore that his brown eyes looked familiar...

Damiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, now drumming his fingers against the pew's arm rest. He kept his foot on Riva to make sure that she was still there at all times. He frowned when he saw Clarence lift the veil off of Zaina and felt anger and jealousy bubble inside of him as the man stroked her cheek with his fingertips. If _he_ wasn't even allowed to do such a thing, then _Clarence_ most certainly was not!

Everything happened in a few seconds. Clarence realized it was not Maria who was in front of him, and, because of that, he smacked Zaina hard across the cheek and sent her flying to the floor. Damiel had Riva in his hands in a heartbeat and was leaping across the pews to where Zaina was. Simultaneously, the guards were alerted and were drawing their swords out to face Damiel.

He threw them a defiant smirk and held his position in front of the girl. "Come on, _bastardos!_ What's the matter? You're all shaking more than when I was finished with your mothers!" He could not help but laugh when the look of shock and then of anger crossed their faces. They attacked, blinded by his words, and as a result, it cost them their lives.

Sheathing Riva, he scooped Zaina up and sprinted out of the chapel, unaware of the fact that Clarence was gaping dumbfoundedly and that his shoulder was bleeding from a wound one of the guards had inflicted on him.

* * *

Olivia shot the guards down as she jumped from roof to roof, careful not to be seen from anyone on the ground. She made the mistake of landing right next to a guard, and, not having time to draw an arrow out of her bow, she made to stab him with one of her arrows, but he saw it coming. He twisted his body out of the way and all but launched himself onto her.

Olivia staggered backward and clawed at his face, but he would not give in. They remained locked together, his arms around her waist, holding her disgustingly close as he neared the edge of the roof. She hissed at him and bit him right in the chin, ripping the flesh off as she withdrew her head. He howled in pain and let go of her to clutch his wound. Distracted from his injury, Olivia quickly snatched one of her projectiles out of her quiver and stabbed it through the man's neck, killing him. '_Don't ever touch me, Scheiße.'_ She spat on the corpse and turned to look over the rooftop she was on. She smiled when she saw Maria, Aden, and Benjamin making their way through the streets, clearing out the guards effectively.

She turned her back to them, satisfied they could take care of themselves, and turned her attention to the guards approaching her. She sighed, and brought her bow up to dispatch them.

* * *

The woman looked up as she noticed Olivia firing arrows at the guards patrolling the rooftops. Maria smiled from the skill she had and focused on the men attacking her. Or, rather, they _would_ have been attacking her if it wasn't for Aden plowing through them like a knife through butter. She huffed when she realized she would not be doing any more killing and dutifully followed Aden, grabbing Benjamin by the hand and leading him through the mess of bodies that used to be the guards. The Englishman looked close to complaining, but whatever he had to say, he kept to himself and allowed Maria to lead the way.

* * *

Zaina struggled out of Damiel's grasp and landed on the street much like how a cat would. Smirking, she ripped her dress off, earning much protest from the boy and a red face from him as well. As if the heavens knew of his predicament, they blessed him with the fact that Zaina was wearing her kneehigh shalwars and normal tunic underneath the dress. Damiel gave out a sigh of relief and shook his head at Zaina. She simply raised her eyebrow at him and ran ahead. He followed closely behind her, ensnared by her personality. '_How does that girl do it...'_

He followed the thief throughout the streets. Occasionally, she'd look over her shoulder at the boy and smirk. Was she teasing him, or merely checking to see if he was still behind her? Damiel shook his head once more as they continued making their way to the docks. Since Maria, Benjamin, and Aden left earlier to reach the harbor, they took a longer route, leaving Damiel and Zaina to travel a shorter route so that the two groups would simultaneously meet each other. He rolled his eyes- of _course_ Aden would want Damiel to _not_ spend much time with Zaina. Really, what did the man think he'd do to her?

Damiel flipped his head backward to clear the locks of hair surrounding his eyes, ran ahead of Zaina, grabbed her hand, and began leading the way. He felt her tug in his grasp, but she soon allowed him to lead. He hoped it wasn't another blow to her self-esteem...

As expected, three guards appeared out of alleyways and stepped into the two Roses' path. Damiel smirked, launched himself into combat with Zaina behind him, and threw yet more insults at them- or rather, at their mothers. Gripping Riva with his right hand and Zaina's small mitt being clutched by his free one, he swung his spear at one of the guards. He blocked it with his sword, the _clang!_ echoing throughout the street. He was not used to fighting someone with a spear; the norm was to have swords as weapons. It was a completely different style. Where a sword's power came from the arm of the wielder, the spear's energy started from the arm, traveled to each length, and then to the other opponent's own weapon when it made contact.

Damiel blocked the next blow with Riva's side, stepped backward to protect Zaina as another guard tried to take the opportunity of his exposed side, and brought Riva's end out from behind Zaina. It connected with the guard's stomach and he hunched over as he fell to the floor with a thud. The nine and ten year old boy tensed when he felt something trickling down his right arm. Sparing a glance, he shook his head. Somehow, he had managed to injure his shoulder. '_Must have been from the chapel...'_

He shook his head and turned his attention over to the two remaining men. The one that had previously blocked one of his blows was eying the boy, trying to find a way to break his defenses. Damiel knew what the two of them were thinking: brute force.

The other man held his blade high as he closed the short distance between himself and the Rose. Bringing his sword down, he gasped in shock as Damiel thrust Riva out, twisted the spear, causing the blade to fall free of his hand, and plunged her head first into his chest. He cried out and gurgled as blood seeped from his mouth.

Damiel shook with excitement at the sight of it. How the man's eyes glazed over, the way his body slowly lost all connection to his brain, how his knees gave way and he fell to the floor...! He gritted his teeth and glared at the last remaining guard. The man looked absolutely terrified as he backed away from Damiel, holding his palm out to plead with the boy.

"P..Please! I have a wife- and two children!"

The other was not listening though. His thirst for blood was not quenched- not yet, at least. He slowly made his way to the terrified male with Riva gripped tightly in his hand. What would his body look without a head..?

"Damiel!" He stopped abruptly and took a quick gasp of air. He looked over his shoulder at Zaina. She was horrified beyond words. Her eyes were wide and she was clutching the left side of her chest with her free hand. "N-no... let him go..."

He looked back to the guard. He motioned his head to the side, letting the man run away from him. "Zaina, I-"

"Don't speak to me!" She wrenched her hand free of him and ran ahead to the docks.

"Wait- Zaina!" Damiel sprinted after her, his sudden bloodlust forgotten. "Please, I... I didn't mean to scare you!"

"Now I know why Aden does not wish me to be near you!"

"Zaina!"

"Damiel, do _not speak to-_" She cut herself short as he gripped her wrist and whipped her around to face him.

"I'll speak to you if I damn want to," he ground his teeth together and shook his head firmly. "I am sorry that you had to see that, but I have orders from Benjamin: _protect you with my life_. So, forgive me if I'm merely listening to my commands."

"Are you sure that's all it was? _Orders?_ You did not wish to see his blood decorating the cobblestones?"

He sighed and let her wrist go. "I will not force you to trust me, Zai, but I'm sorry. Sometimes I can't control-"

Smack.

"_Keep your mouth quiet, _slave,_ and get your ass to the docks!_" She spat in his face and turned on her heel away from him. He stood there, his hand on the red mark she dealt to his cheek, completely stunned. Yet, even though he was in partial shutdown, he swore that he felt eyes boring into the back of his head.

* * *

"For the love of _God_, Maria- let _go_ of my hand!"

"Benjamin, you know that your abilities-"

"Pah! I can handle myself just fine!"

"Must you be a stubborn goat?"

"And must you insist that I cannot wield my own blade?" He shrugged out of Maria's grip and muttered to himself. There was barely a threat to him, anyways; Aden was doing a fine job killing the soldiers. But, _no_, Maria highly suggested that he stay with her. "This old man can take care of himself."

The European female sighed and slouched her shoulders. "You're very tiring, you know that?" She kicked at the cobblestones when he chuckled and smiled at her.

"Ahh, come now, Sarah, is it that bad?" He gave her a brief pat on the shoulder and jogged over to where Aden was pulling his sword out of a man's stomach. Maria smiled from being called the name and followed after him.

"Aden, haven't you ever heard of the term 'clean kill', my boy?"

He sighed and let go of his sword still deeply rooted inside the corpse. "Benjamin, my apologies, but that actually takes effort on my behalf-" he smirked when Maria pulled out the blade with ease. '-thank you, Maria- and time is of the essence, no?"

"Don't flatter yourself, fool," she punched him in the arm and he laughed from the gesture.

"Of course, Maria. Now, then," he motioned his head forward, "the docks are just past these buildings."

"Let's just hope the Templars don't have a special surprise waiting for us, then," Benjamin took the lead as he jogged the rest of the way to the docks. Maria looked at Aden and waved her hand at Benjamin, trying to let him know that what he was doing was foolish. Aden shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. Was she the only one that thought he should be careful for his age?

She looked above herself and found Olivia also shrugging. She growled and followed after Aden and Benjamin, respectively the caboose of their little trio.

Maria spotted two guards coming out of the shadows towards them. She whispered urgently to the Arab, "Aden, ahead-"

But Benjamin had already seen them. He swept his broadsword, Dynamo, underneath one of the men, permanently damaging his legs. He fell to the floor and held his hands above his head. Benjamin sighed. "Aden, since you do not like clean kills, perhaps you should... ehh..?"

Aden nodded and quickly ended the suffering of the man while Maria quickly dispatched of the other with two swipes from Ebony and Ivory. His blood sprayed out from his chest wounds and some speckled onto her face. Benjamin looked at her and then back at the man she had just killed. "I suppose _you_ don't know what a clean kill is either, my dear."

"At least I know _how_ to kill."

He grumbled and grabbed the two by their arms and led the way to the docks.

* * *

Zaina ran ahead of Damiel and he did nothing to stop her. He simply followed her and gave a sigh of relief when he saw the rest of the Rose, including Olivia who was stabbing a man with one of her arrows, at the docks already. He increased his speed until he all but ran into Maria.

"Ria! Boy, am I ever- _ow!_" He clutched the back of his head where Aden had punched him. "The Hell was that for!"

"For scaring my sister! How _dare_ you-"

"You two can kill each other on the boat, now _move your weight!_' Maria shoved the two apart and ran onto the boat that Benjamin was already on. _Where_ did the man get all his energy from?

Zaina quickly crossed the gangplank, but not before she shook her head at Damiel. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open and frowned. '_That bitch...'_

Aden shoved him out of his thoughts and quickly made his way onto the ship, leaving Damiel standing idly on the docks. What good would it do to follow them? He'd only be mocked and hurt-

"_DAMIEL!"_ Maria was leaning over the boat's rail and glared at the boy. "Ass on, _now!"_

He glared back at her and gave her a single shake of his head. He turned away from her and walked.

"_Damiel!_' She threw herself off of the gangplank and ran over to him. "Now is not the time for this nonsense! _Get. On. The. Boat._"

He once again shook his head and continued walking, but was met with a fist to his head. He gasped and fell to the dock unconscious. To Maria's amusement, Benjamin was already slinging him over his shoulder and jogging back to the boat.

"Come, Sarah, we mustn't waste our time anymore. Let's go."

She nodded and followed Benjamin back onto the ship. Aden was already untethering the ropes connecting the vessel to the harbor. Olivia quickly leapt onto the boat before he was about to remove the gangplank.

Aden gave a brief inspection. There was Zaina, Benjamin, Maria, Olivia, Damsel the Idiot, Belle-

"Uh-oh..."

"What?" The others asked him, save for Damiel.

"We forgot the dog..."

Maria widened her eyes and smacked her forehead. "_Assassin piss!_ Benjamin, can we-"

The veteran shook his head and gave her a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Maria-"

"_Arf!_" All of the members turned their attention to the sound and leaned over the boat's rail, aware that with the gangplank removed, the ship was getting farther and farther away from the docks. The sound repeated itself until the source came into view. Maria smiled as she saw Belle sprinting like the athlete she was toward the boat.

"_Bon chien! Saut, Belle, saut!_" Belle responded to the command and jumped from the docks...

...And landed straight into the water.

"_Hai, hai! Nage, nage!_" Maria scrambled on deck and looked frantically at Aden. "Where the bloody Hell are the ropes?"

He took a step back from her ferocious appearance, but in a split second redeemed himself as he handed her what she required. She grabbed it from his hands and threw one end of the rope into the water. Belle was paddling her way with her paws towards the boat, now swimming parallel to it.

_"Morsure, morsure! Belle, morsure!"_ Maria grinned as the dog complied and bit the rope. "Benjamin, Aden, help me-" She swallowed her words as the two men grabbed the rope from her hands and began pulling the dog onto the deck. Zaina and Olivia stood not far from them, both wearing surprised expressions. Maria had always said that Belle was a failure of a war dog, but they had just witnessed her responding so well to the commands.

"Good Lord, Maria- what have you been feeding this dog?" Benjamin grunted as he had to pull weight more than he desired.

Maria crossed her arms and scowled at Aden. "Believe me, Benny, it wasn't _me_ who has been feeding her." She sighed and wrapped her arms around the wet canine as she was pulled onto the boat. Aden looked at Benjamin and mouthed his apology to the older man and then went to embrace his sister.

"Good girl, Belle, good girl- hm?" Maria cocked her head to the side as she noticed a cord sticking out of Belle's mouth. Wordlessly, she pried open her jaws and retrieved the cord. It took her a moment to realize that no, it was not a string, but rather, a necklace.

"What is that?" Benjamin knelt beside her and frowned when he saw it. The pendant was the symbol of the Templar's, no doubt about the intricate cross, but the snake spiraling around the cross set him on full alert. "This is serious..."

"What is the matter?" Olivia stood behind him and looked over his shoulder at the emblem. "Why are we surprised of this symbol? Many Templar's have them."

"It is not the symbol that worries me, Olivia," Benjamin whispered as he gave the necklace back to Maria. "But the initials engraved into the serpent..."

Maria looked at said initials and frowned. "Who is H.L?"

The others looked at each other and shook their heads. "I don't know, Maria," Benjamin put his hand on her knee as he stood up from his crouching position. She closed her eyes as she noticed how his fingers dug into the fabric and how he gasped from the pain it caused his bones. He gave her a small reassuring smile, but she took it as a wince.

* * *

Christopher paced back and forth across the length of the chapel's interior, his eyes closed as he listened to his other fellow Templar's bicker. Was this really such a surprise for them?

"Don't worry, Clarence," Tyler pat his friend on the shoulder. "We'll get that bitch, don't you worry."

Clarence scoffed and shook his hand off of him. "I planned this out so well..."

Christopher grunted in amusement and continued pacing. '_Yes, because two hours is _such _a long time to conjure out a plan...'_

"...I really thought we had her." Clarence sighed and slouched into a pew. "Tyler, where did I go wrong?"

The other Templar shook his head desperately and knelt in front of Clarence. "It wasn't you at all, brother! Rather, it was that _Thorpe_ woman!"

Christopher rolled his eyes. '_Of course the blame cannot lie with us, that'd be treachery, wouldn't it?_' He looked over at the dead guards with slight amusement. '_Damiel sure has evolved into a young man over the years. He looked well today.'_

"... I will have that woman's head on a pike before this is over! I swear to the Almighty Lord, she _will_ die!" Clarence shot up from his seat and stormed throughout the church, kicking at the floor and walls. "How dare she mock me like this!"

'_Wasn't this wedding a mockery of her, though?'_

"She thinks she can just... AAAAGGHH!" He punched the wall and kicked at the altar in frustration. "_So close... we were so close!_" The Templar let out a frustrated moan and threw his face into his hands. He gripped his hair tightly between his fingers and shook his head like a fool. "How could this have happened...?" He looked over to Tyler who was wringing his hands together and nervously looking around. "_I said how could this have happened, dammit!_"

Tyler squeaked in terror and took a few steps back. "I-I-I do not-"

"Silence yourselves, you fools," Seer was sitting at one of the pews still in tact from Clarence's tantrum, helping himself to alcohol. "Not even the booze tastes good anymore, thanks to you butt shafts."

Christopher smirked from his comment and continued his pacing. '_How refreshing it is to know that only _two _of us have brains out of the nine...'_

Clarence glared furiously at Seer and shook his fist at the man. "_You_ will silence yourself before-"

"Before you what?" Seer stood and sauntered over to the man and placed one hand on his hip while the other still held his beverage. "It would entertain me greatly to see you _attempt_ to threaten me."

Clarence stood his ground while Tyler looked absolutely terrified. The former lifted his chin in the air and turned away from Seer. "I have little time to deal with your nonsense, B_rother_."

"And I have little time to deal with girls." Seer forced his bottle into Tyler's hands as Clarence began walking away from him. He gripped the man's shoulder and spun him around. "But, if it is necessary..." he hissed and took enjoyment from seeing the frightened light in Clarence's eyes. "...then I would be obliged to-"

"ENOUGH, SEER!" The lethal man quickly obeyed and let Clarence go as he bowed his head down to Malcolm as he entered the church. "We don't have time to be at each other's throats. We must think of another plan, dammit."

Clarence cleared his throat, "If I may-"

"No, you may not." Malcolm sat down at the pew that Seer once occupied and folded his hands together. "We've just experienced how _well_ your plans work out, Clarence." The other gawked at what he had just said. "I will leave it to the others-"

"Pardon me, Grandmaster Malcolm," Christopher cleared his throat and bowed his head to his superior. Malcolm nodded and gave him permission to continue, "But, as we know, the Rose has escaped via vessel, and it is safe to assume that they are traveling to the Holy Land."

"_Assume?_ You want to _assume_?" Clarence walked over to Christopher and hissed into his ear, "_Don't try to steal the spotlight from me, bastard_." Christopher merely stepped away from the seething man to continue his suggestion.

"My Lord, Earl is currently in Acre visiting family. If we were to contact him and inform him of the Rose's intentions, then we may be able to gain Maria in our clutches." He looked to the others and earned one nod from Seer, a disgusting glare from Tyler, and cracking knuckles from Clarence. Malcolm, however, remained passive and waved his hand for him to continue.

"We have men in the Holy Land, as we all know. We could contact them, make plans, and try to separate Maria from the group. It won't be easy, but I think I have a few ideas." He grabbed the booze from Tyler and took a swig from it. "Not bad, Seer," he cleared his throat once more. "You see, I witnessed that Damiel boy today- when he murdered a couple of our guards. He has a possessive aura about him when it comes to that little Arab girl. Zaina, I think her name is?

I also understand that her older brother, Aden, Majd Addin's former henchman, is quite protective over his dear sibling. Say if we were to... 'remove' the girl from the rest of them, it would cause disorder, would it not? Both Damiel and Aden would be distracted and set off to find her, no doubt they'd see it as a competition- at least, Damiel would. That Olivia woman would also follow them. She and Zaina are the best of friends, no? That leaves us with Maria and Benjamin. Now, I know from Seer that Benjamin is not to be underestimated, but age has a way of degrading one's skill. We would have the advantage if we could manage an ambush on the two remaining. Thus, we could capture the Thorpe woman."

It was silent as the other Templar's digested this new strategy. Christopher always was one to do his homework before planning; something Malcolm secretly admired about the man.

"Approved."

* * *

"Isn't it suiting, Altair?" Malik laughed as he tied the knot together around Bayo's neck. They had just finished their training, and Altair was joyful to admit to himself that the dog had given him quite the workout. Instead of fighting _against_ novices and apprentices, Bayo had decided to challenge the Master himself.

Bayo sat panting happily as the red bolt of fabric was tied across his neck as his new collar. It was the same fabric tied around the waist of Assassin's: the symbol of their Order.

Altair shook his head and sighed, one hand on his hip while the other was brushing back his sweaty hair. "Brother, you have a peculiar sense of humor."

The one armed man chuckled and pat the dog on the head. "Well, we might as well call him one of us," he held his hand out in front of his face when the other man was about to protest. "Don't even deny it, Altair, or do you want him to bite you in your groin again?"

He frowned at Malik, then glared at the dog. "That _hurt_, dog."

* * *

Translations:

Bon chien: good dog

Saut: jump

Nage: swim

Morsure: Bite

Bastardos: bastards (duh? XD)

Scheiße: shit


	8. Chapter 7

So, this is Chapter 7, shorter than the others, but it's needed just as much as this author's note.

I've been getting some mails about wanting some more Altair and Maria time in this, and I mean no offense to those who have mailed me about this, but it is absolutely necessary for me to build up my OC's as well. They are a HUGE part in the main part of the story: Altair and Maria. I promise you, I PROMISE that once those two meet (should be 3 chapters from now), there will be a whole lot more Altair and Maria moments. That is my promise to you, but I'm going to need you guys to bear with me for the time being. Thank you! :D

And this is to one of my readers, Preachermanredux. My editors and I took to consideration about your suggestion, and for that particular example that you gave me, I asked one of my college professors that I'm friends with. She said that sentences like that are completely up to the author, there is no correct way to have it. /shrug. It's just the way I write, it's my style to put the big feat before the smaller one. But thank you for pointing it out, I never knew it was a preferenced style :)

Props to Christina and Meadjean, and also to Fate Likes Fools for listening to my endless babbles and putting up with my stupidity XD You're an awesome writer, so check out her story The Confidant, gosh darnit.

* * *

"What were you thinking, Damiel? Just _what_ were you _thinking_?" Maria knelt beside the boy and began wrapping his wounded shoulder in makeshift bandages she tore from his tunic. They were sitting down on the wooden floor of the ship's hold, ignoring the sickening sway of the boat. Well, Maria was used to boats since she had travelled to Cyprus, but Damiel was never accustomed with the feel of the ocean underneath him.

She dabbed ointment onto the wound and continued wrapping it. She raised her eyebrow in question when his face turned a bright red. Although the Rose was family to him, he never felt comfortable being semi-naked in front of them. He was well aware that Maria could not only see his flesh but the scars from his slavehood. He wished he had his tunic back on...

"Well?"

Damiel gulped and looked away from his friend, letting his curls fall into his face to hide the blush from her. "I... I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"Maria, it isn't easy being here for me.." He gave her a small smile and winced when she tied the cloth a bit too tightly.

"Sorry... never been a good medic," she laughed lightly and gave his good shoulder a firm pat. "It isn't easy for any of us, Damiel. You have no idea how much of a drag this is for Benjamin."

He rested his hand on top of hers and interlocked his fingers with hers. She frowned and tried tugging her hand away, but he kept a firm hold. "I know Benjamin has it pretty bad, but he doesn't have Aden breathing down his neck every second and mocking him for everything that he is." He sighed and looked down at the floorboards. "He doesn't _like me_, Maria, and I have no idea why."

"Is this why you wanted to leave? Because of Aden? _Aden_?"

Damiel slowly shook his head and pouted. "He's always blaming me for _everything_. I didn't _mean _to scare Zaina- you know how I crave death sometimes? Well, it happened again, and she was there... she saw everything, and I couldn't help it. She smacked me too," he rubbed his cheek that still throbbed slightly and frowned in annoyance. "I'm really beginning to change my mind about that girl, Ria. She seemed to sweet, so nice... But, now, I don't know. She seems like a pathetic ninny to me."

The older woman laughed and shook her head in wonder. "You're something else, you know that? One day, you're obsessed with her. The next, you can't stand her. Which is it, Damiel? Do you or do you not want her?"

He chewed on his lip as he thought over his answer. "You know what, Maria?"

"What?"

"I want her, but I want her as a friend and nothing more. Not until she matures a bit."

She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand out from under his. "_You're_ one to talk about maturity."

"I can say the same for you," he muttered as he looked at his bandaged shoulder in false interest.

Maria tilted her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip. "What's that supposed to mean, dare I ask?"

Damiel sighed and stood up, aware that the few candles illuminating the hold were casting beautiful shadows on his comrade. "Sleeping with a man and then becoming devastated with the consequences."

She took a quick breath and bit her lip. "I didn't mean for it do end like this..."

"Then what were you thinking? That you'd- pah, nevermind," he waved his hand at her and walked past her, but stopped when she grabbed his wrist.

"Tell me, Damiel."

He shrugged out of her grasp and shook her head, refusing to look at her. "It's nothing, forget I said anything."

"... please?"

He sighed and wriggled with uncertainty. Mumbling, he replied, "You know I can't _stand_ it when you say please; it's so unlike you to _ask_ and not _demand_."

She smiled and shrugged playfully. "I'm a changing woman, Damiel." Her smile widened as she heard him laugh. "Now, what were you saying?"

"I um... well.." He sighed and shook his head. "Don't blame me if I hurt your feelings. Did you think that you could really leave us behind? That you could say 'bye' to Benjamin, Hildegard, and _me_?" Damiel turned around to face her with a sad expression. "Maria, I _need_ you in my life. If... if you didn't come back to us when Benny and I asked, I don't know what I would have done. We thought you were _dead_. After you disguised yourself as Robert in Jerusalem, we didn't receive word that you were alive and well. We didn't even know that you were kidnapped by that damn Assassin and brought to Cyprus until _after_ you returned to the Holy Land. What do you think that did to us- what it did to _me_?

Do you remember what happened when you were ordered to take Robert's place during the funeral? Do you?" He stopped and waited until she nodded her head ever so slowly, then continued. "I begged you to take me with you. I begged you to let me go with you so that I could protect you from the Assassin. If I died- the Hell would care? _No one_. If you died? Everyone would care. You... you didn't let me go with you. You ordered my removal from the Crusades and Robert complied. Benjamin resigned as well when you left. Maria, I thought you were _dead_. The only word we received was that.." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "_Was that the Assassin had travelled from Jerusalem to Arsuf to kill Robert_. Maria, you... you were _dead_ to me. Do you know what that did to me? _Do you_?"

"I-I..." She opened her mouth but was at a loss for words. She gazed down at the floor and then back up to Damiel. Her eyes widened when he had closed the distance between them and held her shoulders in both of his hands. "I'm sorry, Damiel.."

"It tore me in half, Maria. Part of me wanted to kill myself, but I kept hearing your stubborn ass voice in my head. 'Don't do it, you bloody goon! How _dare_ you consider dying for me!' The other part of me wanted to forget. I wanted to forget everything; you, the Crusades, Benjamin- _everything_." He sighed and hung his head low. "I couldn't do it, though. Couldn't do either of them." Damiel raised his head again and looked her straight in the eyes, his face the definition of serious. "Answer me truthfully, Maria. Did you want to give up everything for that Assassin?"

She returned his gaze and stern look. Maria gulped and inhaled. "I did, Damiel, I did."

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips in fury. His grip on her shoulders only tightened. "I see." All in a blink of an eye, he had let her go and had his back to her as he walked away.

"It was what I _wanted_, Damiel." She clenched her fists and held her head high and proud as she spoke to his back. "He was everything that I wanted- that I _needed_."

"So you didn't need me or Benjamin?" He whipped around and stormed back over to her, the veins on his neck protruding from his skin. "Oh, _thanks_, Maria, for confessing!"

"_I needed him in a different way!_We had both faced the same deception in our lives- Robert deceiving me and his precious Master lying to him and using him as his puppet! Don't you understand, Damiel?" She rolled her eyes when his expression did not change for the better. "I spent over a year with him, Damiel- _a year_. Do you want to know how much I hated him for about ten months? _I wanted to kill him! _You think that one day I woke up and decided, 'Oh, I think I'm going to help myself to some Assassin now'? _Do you_?" Maria shook her head and gave him a sad smile. "I wanted someone, Damiel. No- I _needed_ someone to wake up to every day." Her grin disappeared in a heartbeat and an emotionless face took its place. "But now I've discovered that I no longer want him."

It was a lie. It was _all _a lie. Yet, she could not tell Damiel how much she yearned for her dear Assassin's touch; how much she craved his bare skin against her own and how she'd give anything to taste him once more and to suckle on the scar on his lips. She walked away from him and climbed the ladder, went through the hatch onto the deck, and left Damiel alone.

He ground his teeth together and slammed his fist into the side of the hold. "Thanks for admitting you don't love us, Maria.." His lip quivered and he shut his eyes tight to prevent the tears from spilling forth.

"Augh, look at you! You're no better than Aden on a cold England morning, _dumm_."

Damiel rolled his eyes and groaned when Olivia casually sauntered over to him and put an arm around his good shoulder. "My God, I've seen fish have more _kugeln_ than you." She shook her head and smacked his arm.

"Just go away," he quickly walked away from her and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I don't want to be disturbed."

"Lucky for you, I don't care what you want," she smirked and tilted her head to the side. "Tell me what happened between you and Zaina. I don't believe one word Aden tells me."

Damiel snorted in disbelief. "Oh, that's funny," he threw her a dangerous look before continuing, "seems to be everyone believes that good for nothing Arab."

Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and returned his look. "I am not everyone, _stummer kolben._"

He sighed and sat down, motioning for her to do the same. She nodded and sat cross-legged in front of him. "I had a slight trance today when I was protecting her."

"Ahh, so he still has his blood lusts!" She laughed and smacked his knee. "So, let me guess," she shut his mouth with her hand and smirked once more. "You frightened Zaina, she lost her _schnitzel_, and didn't listen to your explanation?" She sighed and slumped when he nodded. "Don't worry about her, Damiel, she'll forgive you sooner or-"

"I don't want that damn bitch's forgiveness."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him. "It would be wise not to speak of her-"

"It would be wise if she would stop relying on Aden to solve every one of her problems. Hell, I didn't even _do_ anything!"

The German woman frowned at him and clenched her hands into fists. "Tread carefully, Damiel. Your voice does not settle with me, nor does your attitude. _Don't _speak so negatively of Zaina and Aden."

"Oh, pardon me," he held a hand to his chest in mock offense, "I had no idea that that family was allowed to beat me around like a ragdoll, yet _I _am completely unable to defend myself. I had _no_ clue."

"Do not provoke me, _scheiße!_ I _will_ hurt you if you-"

"So that's how it is. Everybody has to stick up for poor little Zaina, huh?" He threw his head back and let off a hoot of laughter. "You know, it amuses me to no end, that girl. I can't believe I actually thought she was worth my time. Now... now, all I see is some _pathetic, stupid, cry baby,_" Olivia's eyebrows twitched as he continued insulting her friend. "_backstabbing, conniving __**bitch**_."

She quickly stood from where she was and held a dagger to his throat. "_One more word..._"

"Are all the women on this boat bitches? Or is it just me? Oh, wait, no- Aden is a bitch and he's no woman. At least, I don't think he is." He glared at Olivia and held his chin out defiantly.

"..." She sheathed her dagger and turned away from him. "Aden will know of this."

"I expected that much, _bitch_."

* * *

"Maria, why is it you're scowling at the ocean? Please don't tell me you're becoming ill.." Benjamin sighed and took his place beside Maria as she was leaning on the rail of the boat. "I was expecting Damiel to become sick, but not you, my dear."

She shook her head and leaned it against his shoulder. "Benjamin, did I do the right thing?"

"That depends on what you mean, Maria." He wrapped his arm around her and rested his chin on her head. "You always do the right thing in my eyes, anyway."

She grunted and smiled gently, closing her eyes. "Damiel is angry at me."

"I blame it on the hormones," he scoffed and rolled his eye. "He reminds me how I used to be when I was his age."

"It's hard imagining you being so bold and immature, Benny."

"I've become a fine man since, and I have faith in Damiel that he, too, will turn out to be worth a woman's while." He chuckled as did Maria. "A woman that can put up with a shitload of nonsense, that is."

"Indeed," she sighed and opened her eyes once more. "Do you... do you think I should have stayed with the Assassin?"

Benjamin bit his lip and looked out to the sea. "I think you should have followed your heart, Maria."

"What if my heart does not know what it wants?"

"Or are you just denying yourself because you're afraid?"

"I..." she looked him in the eyes and frowned slightly. "I do not know.. part of me wants him _so much_, Benjamin," she slouched and rolled her head to the side. "It makes me feel like one of those fluttery, pretty, delicate housewives, to tell you the truth."

"And of the other part?"

"I want to be with you, Damiel, Hildegard... everyone. Is that possible?"

Benjamin sighed and took her hand in his. "Walk with me, Maria." And so she did. He led her up to the quarter deck where Aden was at the helm steering the vessel. "Have I ever told you the story of your Uncle Xavier and 'Aunt' Emily?"

Maria smiled and nodded.

"Those two could never get along, I swear," he sighed and shook his head in wonder. "How they even managed a marriage, I can't say. But, you know how Xavier could not decide if he wanted Emily more or his Brothers?"

"Yes, he was torn in half. He wanted a life with her, but he also wanted a life with his own kind."

The veteran nodded and smiled. "He knew he couldn't have both, Maria."

"And so he picked Emily, but, why?"

"He lived his life with the Brotherhood, that's why, Maria. He needed to choose a new path and bend to the lifestyle. Adapting was part of what he was, and so he adapted." Benjamin let go of her hand and strolled away from her.

"What are you saying?" she stood her ground and called after him.

"What I'm saying, Maria," he looked over his shoulder and smirked at her, "is to choose a new path- even if it means letting go of everything you hold dear."

* * *

Altair sighed and rubbed his face with both of his hands as he pondered over what he had just seen. He was locked away in his room again with Bayo sitting at his feet lightly dozing on and off. For almost three years now, he had been keeping a journal that detailed what he had been experiencing in his life. Mainly, he wrote down what the terrible Piece of Eden had been showing him and his thoughts on the matter. The artifact was right in front of him on his desk, glowing a hazy golden color that almost beckoned him to look into its dark secrets once more. But, no- he would not be as weak as Al Mualim and submit to its powers. No, he would merely use it to gain information and to understand it better; possibly even to understand the Templars better.

As the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Dipping his quill into ink, he began drawing out what he had just seen. Sometimes the Apple would literally display an image, while other times his mind would go on a wicked rampage and conjure up images. This time, he had seen it all in his head. He didn't think, just let his hand move with the quill and illustrate what he had just learned. A man... wearing regal robes, arms raised high above him, worshipping a circular object with power emitting from it. One would think that the rounded being would be the object worshipped, but there were other people surrounding the man, arms folded in front of them and heads looking at the man in absolute wonder. Were they saying a prayer? Were they showing their inferiority? The Assassin did not know. He was not entirely sure if he _wanted_ to even know. What if this was proof that men had to obey others to survive? That there would always have to be a superior human for there to be order and peace?

It went against everything he believed in, yet the Apple showed it to him. Perhaps it was trying to show him what the world would be like should the Templars succeed? Or, maybe it was showing what it would be like if the Assassins succeeded? There was also a possibility that whatever either faction did, the world would still be this way. Maybe it was destiny for the Templars to win, but then again, maybe it was not.

Finished with the drawing, he frowned. What was he to make of this? He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Too many times that damn metal ball had shown him such complex images. '_So many perspectives to view it... Is it trying to demonstrate what life is about? That there is no 'good' and 'evil' in the world? That men all want the same things in life?'_

Opening his eyelids, he got up from his seat and made his way over to one of the bookshelves in his room. He had personally requested that specific books were placed in his room that would help him sort his thoughts out, yet he could not help noticing that several of the novices had slipped in romantic novels along the shelves.

He blinked in surprise when he could not find what he was looking for. What on Earth had happened to the leather-bound book that he kept with him at all times? It was his journal that he sewed in stray pieces of parchment to display his writing. He shook his head and clasped his forehead in his hand while the other gripped the shelf itself. '_What did I do with it..?'_

Bayo lazily opened an eye to look at his master. He whined softly and trotted over to Altair and nudged his leg with his head. The Assassin slowly looked down at the dog. The Greyhound-Whippet stared just as intently at him, as if he was trying to tell him something.

'_Of course...!'_ Altair groaned when he realized who had his journal. '_Damn clever woman...'_

Bayo lolled his tongue out and almost smirked at the man. He turned away and walked back to the table with his usual _click click click_ of his nails hitting the stone floor. He stood on his hind legs and placed his forelegs on the desk and sniffed at the Apple. Curious, he tilted his head to the side and licked it. He never saw anything like it. When it began glowing, he let off a low growl and the hair on his neck stood up.

'_Can animals sense its power, too?'_Altair frowned and strolled over to Bayo and placed a hand atop his head and idly pet the canine as he watched him and the artifact. Altair could feel the forceful power coming off of it. He furrowed his eyebrows together further as the dog sensed it as well and bared its teeth at the golden orb. '_How strange...'_

Before he would be threatened to bite at the artifact, the Assassin swept it from the table and began making his round to the vault underneath the fortress where he kept the artifact. Bayo followed him obediently as they descended the stairwells to the secluded chamber.

'_Was the picture that I saw trying to demonstrate what ALL life would be like? That humans as well as animals would be forced to have a leader in their lives?_' He slipped a key out of one of the pouches around his waist and shoved it into the keyhole into the door to the vault. '_If that is to be, then there will never be world peace. Then, what is the purpose of Assassins? What is the purpose of ME?'_

He silently entered the chamber and past by the crates littering the floor. To anyone, it would seem as an abandoned warehouse, but every high-ranking Assassin knew never to venture in this room without the Master's permission. Altair knelt down on the cold floor and groped around for the loose stone. He kept his expression stoic as he pondered his discoveries further. '_Do the Templars know of this? Were they ever able to gaze into the Apple? Have they ever seen what I have seen? Are they afraid that this is the way the world would be- that Assassins and Templars would never have a say in how people interact with one another? That the people themselves would be forced to obey? What if the superior man that I saw was a symbol and in reality wasn't even a man. What if it was the Piece of Eden itself, and the object he was worshipping something _more_? What if all the Pieces of Eden add up to something greater- that they were all once one being that was split into fragments? If that is so, then it would be wise for the Assassins to collect all of the Pieces, for if the Templars should even discover one of them, I fear that all Hell would be released on mankind. But, the question is, how many other Pieces are there? Where are they if there are more? Do they even exist in this world? Perhaps they exist in the 'afterlife'...'_

Finally finding what he was looking for, he lifted the stone up and carefully placed the artifact in the now existing hole in the floor. He gently eased the stone back over the Apple and sighed when he no longer could see its seducing glow. He gave out another sigh of relief and turned to look at Bayo. The hair on his neck was still bristling, but he was no longer growling. No doubt he could still sense its power, seeing as how animals were known to be more sensitive to their surroundings than humans could ever dream of.

He walked out of the vault and locked the door behind him and placed the key back in its pouch. Altair ascended the staircases once more and instead of returning to his room, he decided to pay a visit to his study. He needed the Piece of Eden out of his mind at the moment, and he had just the thing in mind to relieve himself of such a haunting object.

Reaching his destination with Bayo still tailing behind him, he looked through the papers scattered across the desk until he found what he was looking for. The letter from Hildegard remained untouched and undiscovered since he first read it. She would be here in only a matter of days and he still did not know if he trusted her or not. He did not dare tell Malik. What if she was really what she said and against the Templars? It would not make her an Assassin- dear Heavens, no- but it would give him a category to put her in, just as he categorized Maria. If he were to tell Malik of the letter, the man would double the patrols surrounding Masyaf and probably order her blood staining one of their feathers. Altair couldn't take that risk.

He slowly sat in his worn wooden chair and reread the letter. Maybe there was something he missed? Perhaps he had to read in-between the lines. After all, he was practically in shock when he first read its contents. He found absolutely nothing new or interesting about the letter. He sighed and looked at Bayo. The dog was smelling the desk, lacking anything better to do. Perhaps Bayo knew who Hildegard was? If Hildegard was Maria's friend as she had written, then surely Bayo met her before.

"Bayo," Altair called to the dog and motioned him forward with a wave of his hand. The canine tilted his head but obeyed and trotted over to Altair and sat in front of him wondering what he could want. The Assassin cleared his throat. It was worth a try...

"Hildegard." He held his breath and his eyes lit up as the dog's ears perked up. So he knew her! He repeated her name and Bayo lifted his head and cocked it to the side in excitement. "You know her, boy?"

As if he understood every word he had said, Bayo wagged his tail and stomped his forelegs impatiently. He knew that whenever Maria mentioned her best friend's name, it meant they were visiting soon. And Hildegard was always generous with treats and always did love pampering the dog.

Altair smirked and held the letter out to Bayo. If she wrote it, then her scent _had _to be on it, and if Bayo was trained in the art of war, then surely he was trained in the art of hunting. And what hunter did not know how to interpret scents?

And so when Bayo sniffed the letter and wagged his tail in response to what he smelled, Altair breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. If Bayo trusted the woman, then surely he could as well. But he would not welcome her with open arms, no. She would have to prove herself trustworthy first.

* * *

"What_ is _it that you're doing?" Maria raised her eyebrows at Damiel. They were both sitting again in the ship's hold, and the two of them had both apologized to each other. Rather, Damiel had said he was sorry and Maria had punched him in his good shoulder. Now the poor boy had two aching shoulders thanks to her. She leaned back against the ship's interior wall and stared blankly at the boy. "You twitch your fingers randomly, what is that?"

He smiled sheepishly at her and looked down at his left hand. Sure enough, his ring finger was twitching and drumming against his knee. He shrugged. "I don't know, it's just something I've always done when I'm thinking about something, or if I'm excited about something."

"What are you thinking about then?" She closed her eyes and flexed her shoulders. It was now Saturday morning and she was sore from Friday's running and fighting. By God, when had she become such a weakling?

"Just wonderin' what we'll do once we find Hildegard... it kind of makes you wonder where we'll head next, right?" He looked over at Maria and suppressed a chuckle. He was smug when he thought how comfortable she was in his presence. It had taken over three years for her to trust him completely. He realized how beautiful she was when she wasn't barking orders or threatening to cleave a man's head off with her swords. How her features softened and how she visibly relaxed was almost alluring to the boy.

"Mm.." Maria opened her eyes to find Damiel staring at her intently. "Don't look at me like that, you yellow son of a legless pig." She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. He merely smiled and looked away so she could not see the smirk slowly spreading across his lips. "Of course I wonder what we'll do," she finally said as she sighed. "I suppose living normal lives is out of the question." They both chuckled at this thought.

"Maybe you can take up the pipe organ again? You _were _a good musician, Maria. I remember when we'd stop at Crusader-run towns, you'd always play for Benjamin and me. Beautiful talent, beautiful talent." He sighed thinking about it. Music was a huge part of his culture and he loved every melody, every beat, every subdivided rhythm.

Maria laughed and shook her head. "I suppose you'd go back to conducting, then? _You_ were always good at _that_."

"Indeed, I believe I missed my calling," he smirked and waggled his eyebrows at her. "When we return to England-"

Maria sighed. "We can't go back to England, it's too hot of a place right now. No doubt the Templars are swarming there as we speak. Perhaps Benjamin can point us in the right direction," she mused. "After all, he _did_ say he had allies in the Holy Land."

"Huh," Damiel grunted and threw a boyish smirk her way. "You know I never liked the Holy Land."

"You just don't like Arabs, Damiel."

"Well, yeah, that too, but the heat..." He shuddered as he thought about all the days as a soldier when he had to endure the sweat caked to his skin and the chainmail sticking to his flesh in a most disgusting way. It was even more uncomfortable when it clung to his unmentionables- Robert always got a laugh out of it when the boy had to constantly grab his crotch to readjust his armor. "If I am going to be forced to live there, then I'd rather return to England and be hung for treason."

"I won't stop you from doing that," she returned his smirk and raised her eyebrow in challenge. "In fact, I believe I'd be there just to see you hang and to insult your miserable ass."

"And what would you say, Maria?"

"Well, I'd start off by calling you a drenched bladder and a deckswabber s'wit, that's for sure." She smiled as he chuckled from the insults. "Then, I'd move on to insulting your manhood and declaring you a woman."

"I believe- oh, hey, _Zaina_." He sneered her name as the Arab girl climbed down the hatch into the hold. She frowned at Damiel but gave a polite nod to Maria. The latter answered her by giving her a wave of her hand. He muttered under his breath, "Bitch.."

Maria gave a disapproving look his way and called out to the girl. "Zaina, feel free to join us anytime you wish to. It is no trouble at all, really," she smiled at the girl and hoped she would open up to her. She was always so quiet and insecure to the point where it made Maria itch with annoyance. She never did like unusually quiet people. How she survived months accompanying Altair on his journeys to and fro Cyprus, she had no idea, but thanked whatever God was watching over her.

Zaina merely gave a small grin, but threw her head up at Damiel. He coughed and smirked at her. She frowned once more and walked to the other side of the hold where Olivia was.

"Probably going to start their gossip club," Damiel rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Maria. "Hey, Ria?"

"What is it?"

"Whatever happened to that book? You know, the one the Assassin wrote?"

Maria's eyes bulged out of her head and her jaw went slack. "Useless breasts of a barnacle...! I... I left it at- why are you smirking so contentedly?" She growled at him when he merely looked at her with his face shrivelled up in an extremely smug expression with his eyes squinted at her. "For the sake of your undergarments, Damiel, _why_ are you-"

"Because I enjoy your insults, Maria, they're quite refreshing." He laughed and stood from his spot on the floor and casually walked over to one of the crates in the hatch. "Actually, I just wanted to see your reaction, to tell you the truth."

She followed him to the crate and crossed her arms. "Well, now you saw my reaction-" she cut herself off as she stared dumbfoundedly at the leather-bound book he held out to her. "How did...?"

"I smuggled it with me from our church, Ria." He smiled as she took it from him. "You know, I don't see the point of that book. There were only nine pages, and one of them is even torn out, making only eight. Some journal," he shrugged and cocked his head to the side as she stared at the book as if it was her savior. "Is it that fascinating?"

She didn't reply and merely flipped it open to the first page, then the second, and so forth until she came across the page missing. She frowned. "That's strange, why would someone tear the page out?"

"Are you sure _you_ didn't tear it out?" He folded his arms behind his head and clasped his neck with both hands as he stared with mild interest at her. "I mean, you loved smothering that thing-"

"No, I didn't do it," she looked to the side and bit her lip as she began thinking of who could have possibly torn the page out. "Maybe it's been torn out all along and I just never realized it..."

"How could you _not_ have realized it? You've had that thing with you so many times- you even _slept_ with it once! Surely you would have noticed?"

"In case you weren't aware, Damiel, I was not exactly fully alert to anything over the past year." she snapped at him, shook her head and gave him back the book. "You keep it with you, looking at it... it-"

"Hey, don't worry about it." He smiled a toothy grin and gave her a pat on her forearm. "I understand, I got your back, Ria." He placed the book back into the crate and took her by the arm and led her up the hatch. "Come on, let's go speak to Benjamin. I'm sure he's got something useful to say."

She obeyed and allowed him to lead her to the deck. She smiled as she saw her old friend pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. It was so like him to be worrying when they were incapable of doing anything.

Damiel jogged up to him and almost tripped when the ship made an unexpected jerk. He swore under his breath but recovered and began pacing side by side by his friend. Maria walked along the other side of Benjamin and they both looked up at him. "What's got your mind in a fish net, Benny?"

He seemed startled from his voice but sighed nonetheless and explained. "There is so much, Damiel my boy, that we must discover. We must find Hildegard, wherever she may be, question her motives-"

"You believe she ran away?" Maria bit her lip. She trusted Hildegard with her life and more, but to have her willingly run away...? Surely there must have been a good reason behind all of it, right..?

Benjamin grunted and nodded his head. "Yes, Maria, I do believe she ran away. If Templars captured her, then Olivia would have surely scouted them and learned of their plans. I doubt she was killed in the fire that was put to her estate, she's a smart woman, that Hildegard. Running away seems the only other option available to me." He absent-mindedly tugged on the cloth wrapped around his head that covered his left eye socket.

Damiel scowled and shook his head in disgust. "She's going to get an ear-load from us, then."

Maria glanced blankly at Damiel. "Don't go assuming things, Damiel. I'm sure she had a good reason."

"Biased, are we?"

"Do not make me destroy any chance of your reproduction," she furrowed her eyebrows and glared at Damiel. "Because I _will_."

Benjamin chuckled from their banter and placed an arm around each of their necks. "Now, now, you two, please don't try to kill each other. We've enough to worry about. Not only is Hildegard on the agenda," he stopped pacing when he reached the ship's fo'c'sle and looked out to sea. "But we must also discover who this 'H.L' is."

Both Maria and Damiel followed Benjamin's gaze to the water, as if it held all of the answers. The boy however, sighed and shook Benjamin's arm off of him. "I honestly have no idea who the Hell that is, Benny."

"I know, Damiel, I know."

"Nor do I," Maria gave him a small smile and wrapped her arm around the veteran's own neck. "I just hope whoever it may be is an ally."

"Doubtful," Damiel snorted and dug the toe of his boot into the floorboards. "Everyone's against us, it seems."

"Except the Assassins," Benjamin said thoughtfully as he mused over his own words. "They'll probably be able to help us along with our own allies."

Maria held back the urge to scowl at the mention of the former occupation. Instead, she decided to press the subject on their allies. "Who are they, Benjamin? Our allies?"

"They're old friends of mine, my dear." Typical of him to have friends everywhere. After all, Benjamin travelled the Holy Land as well as most of Europe during his time as a soldier. "I'm sure they'd be willing to help us out. In fact, Maria," he looked over at the woman and smiled. "Do you remember your tutor, Doctor Foo?"

She nodded.

"Well, it turns out the old chap is living outside of Damascus and is still teaching! Remarkable, I know," he chuckled when he saw Maria's eyes widen. "The man never seems to tire of passing information on."

"He always _did_ love eager students, Benjamin," Maria mused over what she had just heard and couldn't resist a giggle. "It seems like it's been forever since I last saw him... By God, I wonder how he is?"

"It's only been eleven years, Maria," the veteran laughed and patted her on the back. "You were four and ten years, remember?"

Damiel gawked and looked absolutely bewildered. "W-wait a minute! Ria, you said you were two and twenty years old!" He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an accusing eyebrow up at her. "You _are_ two and twenty years old... _right_?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned her head against Benjamin's shoulder. "Benny, save me the trouble from explaining myself, would you?"

Benjamin sighed but complied. "Damiel, Maria is five and twenty years old, silly boy."

"WHAT?" His jaw practically hit the floor as he gaped back and forth at Maria and Benjamin. "But, but, but...!" He sputtered and looked everywhere like a caged animal. "_You lied to me!"_

"Oh, I've lied more than about my age, Damiel, believe me," she gave him a devilish grin as she winked at the other man.

Damiel scooted over to her and squinted at her, his mouth pursed as he gave her yet another accusing glare. "Just how much have you been bluffing about? Hm? _Hmmm_?" He scratched his chin.

She narrowed her eyes at him and threw him a punch in the face. "My secrets will be revealed in time, you fatless buttocks."

* * *

Earl paced back and forth across the dank and muggy cellar, his boots echoing off of the cold cobblestones that only added to the feeling of dread. His men had just accomplished something extraordinary- something that could easily persuade that bitch of a traitor to reconsider her position as a Rose. He had his arms folded neatly behind his back as he made his rounds back and forth and smirked when he heard the labored breathing of his captive. They had found the man on the outskirts of Damascus and had immediately pursued him. He put up quite a fight, seeing as how Earl was missing seven good men, but in the end the Templars had prevailed. After all, one eagle against God's will was bound to prove the loser.

He turned around and made his way to the cell the man was held in. They had roughed him up a bit, but not so terribly that he would not be able to move his limbs, and because of that, they had chained his arms to the wall so that his hands were above his head. The rough metal clasped around his wrists dug into the flesh so that it peeled off slowly, the cold material burning its way into him. His tunic was torn off of him, revealing a sweaty, bloody chest that heaved and trembled up and down while he breathed. His britches were tattered with blood stains decorating the fabric leaving dark blotches against the dark material. Earl stopped in front of the cell's bars and calmly smiled at the captive. How beautiful a sight it was! He marvelled at how the man's black as midnight hair clung to his face due to perspiration and how the minor cuts on his face and arms slowly oozed blood out. The more blood Earl saw, the more he wished to see. Earl admitted to himself that yes, he took pleasure at the sight of blood, but he was not as obsessed with it as Tyler was. No, Tyler thought blood was the very essence of poetry and that to bathe in it would glorify one's pride. Earl lightly frowned from thinking of his friend's addiction, but returned his focus and gaze to the man in front of him.

The muscles in his neck were taut as if he was trying to hold in his cries of pain and agony. The Templar would have loved to hear his screams. The man's eyes were closed tightly and his nostrils flared wildly as he struggled to control his eratic breathing. This only caused the Templar to smirk once more.

"You know," Earl ran his hand over his stubbly chin as he spoke to the victim, "you've been causing us quite the struggle. For years, we've been chasing you and your brother, but you already knew that, didn't you?" He breathed out deeply and smiled in amusement as the beaten man slowly opened one grey eye to glare at the Templar. "England, France, Spain, Syria, Israel... do you have any idea how many countries we've turned inside out to try to find one of you? Well, let's just say the Templars have searched endlessly for you and your disgusting brother." He laughed as his other eye flew open to send optical daggers his way. "Your family amuses me, to tell you the truth," Earl turned around to face the small table in the center of the cellar. He casually poured himself a goblet of wine from the bottle situated there and took a sip with a satisfied 'ahh'. The man did not take his eyes off of Earl for one second. He knew how deceiving Templars could be- almost as deceiving as his own kind.

"I suppose it runs in your mother's blood," he mused as he took yet another drink from his glass. "After all, it'd explain how you and your two siblings have such pride that sickens me to the core." He scowled and made his way back to the cell. "Your sister was always the rebel, wasn't she? Always acting as the other sex, never listening to what others said of her..." Earl chuckled when he saw the faintest flicker of annoyance on the other man's face. "But, don't worry," he sneered. "I'm going to be _extra_ careful to teach _her_ a lesson."

He let out a full malevolent chortle when the captive stirred from his chains and balled his cuffed hands into fists. Lowering his voice, Earl continued, "and guess who's going to help me do that?" He waited for a response from him. When realization finally hit him as hard as a fist to the stomach, the captive let out a strangled moan.

'_No, no, no, __**NO!**_"

"That's right, my little eagle, _you_ are." Earl laughed once more and bared his teeth at him. "It's been forever since I tasted the flesh of a woman that would make night amusing for me, did you know that? She's quite the hellcat, isn't she? Oh, how I _long_ for the time when she's underneath me."

The chained man bared his teeth right back at him and furrowed his eyebrows together as his threatening glare deepened. He tugged against the cuffs surrounding his wrists and ignored the new onslaught of pain and blood it brought him. The other man's eyes glittered from seeing the red liquid drip down his bare arms, down his torso and finally to stain his britches.

Earl threw his head up in the air and turned away from the cell, leaving the man to wallow in his misery and suffer once more from the information given to him. The Knight of Templar looked over his shoulder and called out, "The best part is, little eagle, _you'll_ be able to _watch_."

* * *

"He's just so... _stupid_, Olivia," Zaina sighed and held her knees tighter to her chest as she explained her thoughts to her friend. She and Olivia were sitting where Maria and Damiel had previously occupied before they went up on deck to speak to Benjamin. "I wish he was more like Aden."

"Augh, no, you don't, my _süß_. Aden is brother, not partner." The German woman rolled her eyes as she examined the arrows in her quiver. "They're never sharp enough for my tastes."

"Oh, leave the arrows!" Zaina pouted and nudged her friend's shoulder with her arm. "I'm in the middle of a crisis, and all you can think about is-"

"Zaina, my little _kartoffel_, why bring up Damiel? Why talk of him when he's _arschloch?_ Please do not tell me that you enjoy his company?"

The Arab girl blushed faintly and looked at the floor. "N-no, it isn't that..."

"Then why be so persistent with him as the topic of our conversation?"

"It's nice to have someone like you is all." Zaina shook her head and looked at Olivia, hoping that she'd understand.

The other woman scoffed and refused to meet her eyes. "I wouldn't know, duckling, I wouldn't know."

"You never had someone show affection to you?"

She looked uneasy and bit her lip. "Well... there was... _one_... person.."

Zaina's face lit up and she grabbed her arm with both hands and lightly shook her excitedly. "_Really? Who, who?"_

"Ehh.." Olivia's face practically turned a light shade of green from talking about it. She leaned over to Zaina and whispered in her ear. The girl's eyes bulged and her mouth flew open.

"_Abu'l Nuqoud took interest in you!_"

"AIIY!" Olivia slammed her hand over her mouth. "Not so loud! I don't want anyone else to hear!"

The younger woman swatted her hand away and gaped at Olivia. "You didn't... sleep-"

"_How crazy do you think I am?"_ She hissed at her and frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and pouted. "Although I served him, I never _served_ him. I was merely his bodyguard, for the sake of all _kartoffeln!"_She shuddered from thinking about the man. "Eugh, I would rather sleep with constipated donkey."

Zaina giggled and gave a small sigh. "Oh, thank heavens, I thought for- what are _you_ doing _here_?"

Damiel casually climbed down the hatch and smirked at both of the girls. "Evening, _ladies_," he flexed his muscles and his sneer only grew when he saw Zaina eying his bare chest. She was practically marvelling over the muscles rippling underneath his skin. "Mind if I join you?"

Olivia was not affected by his appearance in the slightest. She gave a small glance at Zaina and then back to the floor, but then looked at Zaina once more when she noticed the girl's mouth was slightly open. She frowned and gestured towards her with her hand. She quickly closed her mouth shut and looked at the floor with a rosy haze spreading across her face.

Damiel took it as an acceptance and sat down in front of them. "Now, I don't mean to be stepping on anyone's toes while being here," he glanced at Zaina and squinted. "But I was told to speak with you two-"

"Then be out with it, you dumb duck." Olivia crossed her arms and put on an act of defiance to cover for Zaina's sudden fault. "We were discussing important matters."

"Oh, yes, of course, because discussing Abu'l Nuqoud and how he was infatuated with you is _very important_," he snorted and rolled his eyes, the fingers on his left hand unconsciously drumming against his knee again. "Now, listen, bitch number two, _shut up_, and let me speak."

Olivia complied but was content to glare death itself at the boy.

"Benjamin has declared that we dock at the Holy Land in three days. During those days, he wants us to remain focused and do some exercises on the ship so that our muscles don't deteriorate," he flexed his muscles once more for the fun of it and also to see Zaina blush further. "Also, Benjamin would like both of you to speak with him privately. He has separate tasks for each of us to complete when we finally reach Devil Land, okay?" He sighed and stood once more and turned to climb back up the hatch. He muttered under his breath, "Jeez, you say one word and they get all loopy and fiendish with you. _Women_."

The two girls glared at his scarred back while he was walking away.

"Oh, and I wouldn't be surprised if you two end up getting wrinkles, since you keep scowling at me like that."

* * *

_"Maria..."_

_She looked up at him and then down to her hand that he was holding. They had spent five months sailing to India after they had departed from Cyprus. However, they never reached India, for there was urgent business that required the two travellers' attention. Altair was needed in Masyaf while Maria was needed in Acre to see to family business. Her sister from England had travelled all the way to the Middle East to meet with Maria in person so she had no choice but to return._

_They were walking past each other to reach opposite ends of the deck when the boat lurched unexpectedly and sent Maria sprawling forward. She cursed as her feet were swept up from underneath her and was sure that her forehead was going to slam into the ship._

_However, thanks to a certain Assassin, he had grabbed her arm in the nick of time and hauled her to her feet again, but not before he had let her face remain inches from the boards. He smirked as she breathed out in relief. Standing on her own two feet, she gave him a small nod and mouthed her thank you to him, but frowned when she noticed that his hand had slid from her arm to her hand._

_She had never heard him say her name so casually before, as if they were having a normal conversation previously. She looked up to him and took a cautious step back, retrieving her hand from his grasp. He looked into her eyes so... differently..._

_It was almost so peculiar to the point where it upset her. She was used to the cold, distant man that she had fought against in Jerusalem and had stolen her away in Acre. His eyes were no longer the analyzing orbs that took in every detail and over thought everything they saw, but rather they were soft and... normal._

_She scoffed and looked away from him. "Is there something on my face, you damn Assassin?"_

_He blinked and followed suit as he too averted his gaze. He did not say anything. He was sure that she received the message he had sent her, only she was afraid of it. Altair didn't blame her though. He, too, was afraid. Maria was always the troublesome, fiery, proud woman that had a tongue as sharp as steel. He knew that she never had a relationship with a man before- not even with Robert. From what he gathered from their uncommon conversations, Robert had felt something towards Maria, though she drew the line between Commander of the Crusades and Second in Command. She never felt anything for him other than duty and loyalty._

_He risked a glance at her only to find that she was staring him straight in the eyes. Her expression seemed pained and troubled, though he assumed that the little of his face she could see looked the same. She opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it, and they both turned on their heels in separate directions._

* * *

Altair groggily opened his eyes and vanquished the dream from his mind. He looked around the room and groaned. He must have fallen asleep at his desk. Bayo was still at his side, only he was laying down, his head nestled between his paws as he dozed lightly. Altair stood from his chair and frowned when he saw Malik in front of him wearing a smug expression.

"So, you sleep in until the sun is at its highest in the sky," the one armed man chuckled as Altair glared at him. "and then you decide to sleep while on the job, hm? Tell me, what's next, Altair?"

"What's next is that you will refrain from badgering me like an old woman," he stretched his arms out and flexed his shoulders. He cracked his neck side to side and stared blankly at Malik when the man only gave an amused grunt. "Is there something humorous?"

"No, no, nothing _at all_- what is this?" Malik frowned and took a step closer to the desk to examine an unfamiliar document lying on top of the rest of the letters. "I wasn't aware of-"

"It is nothing, brother. Do not concern yourself with it." Altair smoothly picked the letter up and was about to pocket it one of the pouches at his side when Malik stopped his hand.

"No, I am quite serious, Altair, _what is this_?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it when Malik had grabbed the folded parchment from his hands and flipped it open with his one hand. His eyes were about to browse the page when he felt something warm seep through his robes. He looked at Altair, frowned and looked down. He threw his arm up in the air in annoyance. "Aaaaiighhh!"

Altair snatched the paper from him and secured it inside his robe and looked down to what his friend was glaring at. It took all of his training and willpower not to burst out into laughter and to tease Malik.

The entire fortress burst from their beds and hustled to the Master's study when they heard Malik's furious bellow, "_BAYO! YOU DO __**THAT **__**OUTSIDE**__**!**__"_

* * *

Translations:

_süß = _sweet

_arschloch_ = asshole

_kartoffel_ = potato

_kartoffeln_ = potatoes

_kugeln_ = balls

_stummer kolben = _dumbass


	9. Chapter 8, Part 1

Aaaaand I give you Chapter 8! And yes, I said Maria and Altair would be reunited in 3 chapters, not 3 updates (now that I think about it, it might have to be 4 or 5 more chapters because I've been having a lot of ideas poppin' outta nowhere... I know, you all hate me). I KNOW, I IZ CRUEL :3 and I'm loving every minute of it, but know what? Do ya want me ta rush it? Do ya do ya do ya? Hmmmmmm? Yeah, I thought so XD Forgive me, It's 3:00 AM here, I'm tired, and practically asleep. I'm gonna make me a nice cuppa tea and then go to bed. Yes, I drink caffeine before I sleep.

Thanks to Christina and Meadjean for editting! :D! You da best, you two.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft. I'm just a soon to be grad school student, nothing more.

* * *

Damiel and Benjamin both sat on some crates on deck as they watched Maria. She was looking out to sea with the most empty expression they had ever seen before in their lives. It was lacking so much life, so much soul...

Benjamin knew exactly _who _she was thinking of. Damiel, however, simply thought she was practicing her facial expressions, the silly boy. Maria sighed and closed her eyes, lost in her memories.

"Ehh.. Benny? What's she doing?" Damiel nudged Benjamin and cocked his head to the side. "She keeps sighing and closing her eyes. Is she okay? She isn't sick, is she?"

Benjamin silenced him with a wave of his hand. "She's just thinking, Damiel, she's quite alright, I assure you. It's best if we not disturb her from her thoughts, hm?" He blinked his one eye and looked over to Damiel with a soft grin. "Don't worry, my boy, she's just trying to sort things through."

"It doesn't have to do with that Assassin... does it?" Damiel said softly as he idly toyed with his tunic. He and Benjamin had found one in storage a few hours ago and Damiel gratefully put it on. He was still slightly annoyed with Maria for ripping his other one up, but it was necessary to bandage his shoulder.

"It has everything to do with him, Damiel," Benjamin sighed and chewed his lip in thought. "She doesn't know if she did the right thing or not."

"Who's to say what's right and wrong?"

"Exactly, Damiel, exactly. But, I believe she should have stayed with him."

The younger man sighed and drummed his fingers against his leg. "I had a feeling you'd say that.."

"Well, can you blame me?" He snorted and glanced over at Damiel, then back to Maria. Lowering his voice so she could not hear him, he continued, "If she stayed, Damiel, she'd have a family of two by now. A babe, and a husband. Don't you want that for Maria?"

"Of course I want that!" Damiel frowned and hunched his shoulders at Benjamin who gave him an annoyed look. So much for being cautious. "But with an.. _Assassin_?"

"Oh, come now, Damiel, are they that bad?" Benjamin laughed and ruffled the teenager's hair with one hand. "We both learned how corrupted the Templar's were and what their plans for domination were. The Assassin's banished them from this world, and I see no wrong-doing there, do you?"

"N-no, but... I guess it's hard to take in, that's all." Damiel swung his legs back and forth and clapped his boots together. "It's strange to think of them in that light, Benny."

"They're only human, Damiel, only human."

"You sound as if you're defending them, you know. You didn't befriend one, did you?"

Benjamin remained silent and chose to admire the scenery instead of answering his question. Damiel groaned and hung his head low. "I take that as a miserable 'yes'..."

* * *

Two days later...

Aden was at the ship's helm, guiding the vessel through the water. Zaina was sitting down next to him lightly dozing, her head resting against his leg. He smiled down at her and ran a hand through her hair. He loved his sister dearly and seeing her sleep so peacefully helped ease his troubled mind, but yet he could not remove the image of his golden beauty from his brain. Where was she? Was she alright? Was she still alive?

He sighed and turned his attention toward the deck. Olivia and Maria were doing push-ups together while Benjamin and Damiel were doing crunches. He would have loved to join the latter pair to show Damiel the _correct_ way to exercise, but he could not leave his post. He shook his head and blinked in question as he felt something warm on his hand. Aden turned his head down and chuckled when he saw Belle staring up at him with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. At least she was happy.

The dog nudged his hand with her head and he willingly scratched her between the ears. She whimpered and laid down by his feet. The Arab man smiled briefly but frowned when he heard Damiel complaining. He rolled his eyes from the nonsense coming out of the boy's mouth. He was saying something about how his shoulder still hurt and that doing push-ups caused him agony. '_What a child..'_

Maria turned her head in Aden's direction as if she heard his thoughts. She smiled and walked up to the quarterdeck and stood beside Aden. She gave Belle an amused glance. The man smiled at her and tilted his head to the side. "Maria," he said.

"Aden," she said. Maria sighed and shook her head, looking down at the others exercising. "Do we really look that foolish from up here?"

"Mhm, especially the idiot."

She gave him an annoyed look and kept her lips in a grim straight line. "You need to stop insulting him, Aden. Whatever you have against him, it's weakening him, and when one of us is weakened, _all_ of us are weakened."

"He must leave my sister alone then."

"He _is_, Aden. He doesn't want anything to do with Zaina. He wants it to end at _allies_ and nothing more." She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "Just _what_ do you have against him?"

Aden opened his mouth, but Maria held her hand up in silence. "And _don't_ say it is because of your sister, because I think we both know that that's a lie."

He swallowed and shifted his teeth inside his mouth. "I do not know, Maria. I am angry that he does not share information about himself with us. It irritates me further when he takes things so lightly."

"He is but a boy yet, Aden. You just don't know how to understand him."

"Then what method should I use to cooperate with him?"

The woman scratched her temple and frowned lightly. "For starters, don't mock him for everything he is. He can handle a few teases-"

"He mocks me, though-"

"Only because you mock him."

Aden sighed impatiently. "I see. And his behavior? Why is it always so loose?"

Maria turned her head slowly at him with a most frustrated expression plastered on her face. "Are you that stupid?" She frowned further when he merely blinked at her. "He is not always happy, Aden! He had a rough life, same as all of us. I find it quite refreshing to know that at least _someone_ here is able to smile when times are as dark as they are now! Don't even _try_ to remove that grin from his face. If you do, I will see to it _personally_ that your body is never found, for you will be dinner for the fish!"

He flared his nostrils at her and sent her a vicious glare that could have stopped an entire army in its tracks. "I find it so _amusing_, Maria, that you expect people to listen to you. _You_, who is nothing more than a miserable woman that wishes to see her damned _Assassin_, but lies to almost everyone around you. _Don't_ try to hide the fact that you're so deprived, and _do not_ try to even begin ordering me around like you have control over me." He smirked when her face turned several shades darker in anger. "You may go now, I'm through speaking with you." Aden waved her off and held his chin high.

She said a string of curses before turning around and storming back to the deck to resume her training. She could have ripped his head off for speaking to her that way. She'd leave that for when they rendezvoused with Hildegard, though.

Zaina chose that particular moment to open her eyes and look up at her brother. She gave a weak smile and pat his leg. "Is everything alright, Aden?"

He calmly glanced at her and gave a small smile. "Do not concern yourself with my well-being, sister. I am alright."

"What was Maria angry about?"

Aden sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Defending Damiel's sorry ass."

Her face shriveled up from hearing _his_ name. "He is near useless.. Why is it that we keep him around?"

"Because Maria sees something in him, that's why. I have yet to discover what that is, though." He bit the inside of his mouth and puckered his lips out as he watched the rest of the Rose on deck. Maria and Damiel were sparring, Olivia was doing leg raises, and Benjamin was staring long and hard at the pendant while performing crunches. Aden kept his eyes on Damiel, though. He had far too wide of a swing with Riva- couldn't the boy _see_ that? _Why_ didn't Maria correct him? "Indeed, he is near useless."

Zaina watched the boy as well with a glint in her eye. His tunic clung to his body due to sweat and it did a fabulous job of outlining his abdominal muscles. She marveled quietly on how his biceps would contract and how each muscle would move when he repositioned Riva. On top of that, his mass of curls flung wildly whenever he attacked Maria, his face twisted in a snarl that was almost seducing. He would shout when he attacked, grunt when he took a blow- it was arousing for the girl. Luckily, Aden was too busy scowling at him to notice her dazed expression.

She quickly hid her fascination by sneering at him as well. She couldn't afford to let her brother see her admiration toward Damiel.

* * *

Hildegard let out a sigh of relief when the boat finally made anchor at a harbor. It had felt like years since she had ever touched land again. True, the boatride _was _short, for the most part, but her former acquaintance would not _be quiet!_ He felt the need to fill her in on every little detail from five years ago. She often found her eyebrows twitching in annoyance just from hearing the man take a breath to continue his ramblings. She dared admit that he was worse than her servant, Richard. At least Richard knew when to put a lid on his trap.

She politely stepped out of the way to let the all too eager passengers go on ahead of her and disembark the vessel. She made sure to avoid eye contact with her gossip buddy at all costs and gave a polite smile to the passengers when they nodded their heads in thanks. The blonde beauty slowly made her way off of the ship when everyone else had left. She held her satchel tightly to her shoulder. Once Hildegard's feet touched the soft earth once more, she smiled and sighed, digging her boots in the sandy land. They had docked at a town just southeast of Jerusalem. It'd be a few days' ride to reach Masyaf. She failed to keep her deadline with the Assassin, but they were adaptable creatures. Surely he'd understand?

Hildegard slowly turned her head over her shoulder to take one last look at the boat. The crewmen were already disembarking, shouting orders to one another while they clambered onto the docks. She smiled but it quickly disappeared. She let her eyes wander up and down the boat and then the water. It was a constant reminder of what she had left behind and what she still had to accomplish. Hildegard gave a small huff and closed her eyes. She had always considered herself loyal to her friends- always knew that she would do anything for Maria. But this was on a completely different page for her. She may never return to see her friends, her home, her sister...

And what a shame; Ermen was pregnant with yet another child. She'd miss the birth. Hildegard sighed and shook her head left and right to rid herself of her thoughts. No, she could not dwell with the decision she had made. What's done was already done.

She turned away from the boat and followed the trail of people to the entrance of the small town. A lot of the passengers were going to stay the night at the local inns while some were going to purchase horses and travel through the night to their desired destinations. Hildegard's plan was to rest for an hour or so, purchase some supplies, and then book it to Masyaf. She couldn't delay, not with the new information she had garnered over the last few days. If Maria _did_ marry Clarence, God forbid, then her Assassin needed to know as soon as possible so that they could mount a rescue attempt.

The Rose member perked her head up when she saw the inn come into sight. The town that they had arrived at was bustling with activity- merchants calling citizens over to take a look at their wares, children playing with toys such as wooden swords and dolls, women chatting amongst each other while the men looked absolutely bored out of their minds. She smiled when she saw a little girl combing out the hair of her doll with the utmost care. Such simple lives children lived... how much she envied such an existence. Hildegard bit her lip and stopped dead in her tracks when she caught glimpse of another girl sitting in the dirt next to a building, slouching her shoulders. The woman paid no mind to the people around her that gave her frowns from stopping all of a sudden and causing an obstacle in their paths.

She walked over to the little girl and knelt in front of her. The poor thing's hair was matted with dirt and grime, and her torn clothes were as equally messy. She looked up weakly at Hildegard, and the woman smiled gently at her.

"What is your name, little one?" She dug around in her satchel, looking for something apparently. The girl watched her every move, never taking her eyes off of the stranger.

Her voice was raspy and weak, as if her lips had not touched water in weeks. "A...Azniv." Her eyes widened slightly when she heard the jingle of money, but she quickly recovered from the shock.

Hildegard, having finally found her coin pouch, withdrew a small handful of money. It was all she could afford to give the girl, but at least she'd be happy knowing she tried to help. After all, Hildegard had been in her position once before in her life, and what that had lead to... she'd rather not think.

With the pouch in one hand and the coins in another, Hildegard held them out to the girl. She smiled at her once more, her rosy cheeks dimpling slightly. " 'Azniv'? That's a very pretty name, miss. What does it mean?"

The girl slowly replied, "Honest," her eyes now on the money. Hildegard opened her small hand up and placed the coins into her palm and closed her tiny fingers around it, still smiling gently at her. "There, Azniv. I know it's not much, but I hope it helps."

Azniv stared at her with giant hazel eyes and gave a small smile. "You are very kind, lady."

The woman laughed lightly and stroked the girl's cheek. "You may call me Hildegard, little one."

"You are very pretty, Hil.. Hil.." The name was foreign to her, the letters causing her tongue to twist uncomfortably. "Heeldegard," she finally managed, her eyes wandering from the woman to the bundle of money still in her hand.

"Only on the inside, _habibti_- _hey!_" Hildegard stood abruptly as the girl snatched the pouch from her and dashed off back into the crowd, but not before sending a wicked smirk back at Hildegard. The woman stood there, her jaw slack as she stared into the crowd of people. Finally, after having the facts sink in, she groaned and picked her satchel up once more. "Why am I not surprised," she muttered under her breath as she shouldered the bag and marched her way to nowhere in particular. "Try to do something nice..." she kept a strict scowl on her pretty face, wandering aimlessly and shoving past people with her free arm.

"Oh, but _no_, can't do anything damn nice anymore..." She gritted her teeth together and earned some curious looks from some of the people. "Because there'll just happen to be a little girl that would _love_ to steal your money, even though..." She pushed past a rather large man and kept her half waddle, half march stride in gear, never faltering. "...You offer some coin to her... Heavens above, help me..." The people were now exchanging worried glances with one another, some even whispering to each other about 'that strange woman'.

Hildegard rolled her eyes and huffed. "This is fabulous, just _fabulous_. I rid myself of that good for nothing chatterbox-"

"E'erythin' al'ight, missy?"

Hildegard visibly and internally flinched from hearing his voice. The voice that haunted her for what seemed like an eternity while on that boat. She slowly turned around and gave him one of the biggest forced smiles she had ever done in her entire life. It felt more like a snarl to her, though, she didn't particularly care at the moment. '_I hope it IS a snarl.. Maybe he'll leave me alone..'_

The man, however, was not one known for reading expressions very well, so he walked happily over to her and began updating her about how Persian sheep were no longer producing quality wool and that the merchants would soon go out of business in another two or three years if they did not start feeding the sheep a special type of herb that made them miraculously grow extravagant wool.

Hildegard purposely kept a faster pace than him as her eyebrow twitched in annoyance and her mouth quivered in irritation. She finally stopped when she was in front of the inn. She wouldn't be occupying one of the rooms tonight, oh no, because a little wench had to steal her money.

She gave an exasperated and frustrated huff, pulling her hair with her free hand. The man stopped his rambling to glance at her curiously, but she hardly noticed. She stamped her foot as hard as she could on the ground, a little puff of dirt soon following afterward, and screamed as loud as she could, "_**SEE WHAT I GO THROUGH JUST FOR YOU, MARIA? DO YOU SEE?"**_

_**

* * *

**_

Malik lifted his head curiously. "Did you hear something, brother?"

Altair looked over at him and frowned slightly. Bayo looked at both men. "No, what was it?"

He dismissed it with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. "Pah, must have been the wind."

* * *

The other members of the Rose were fairing just as poorly as Hildegard was, though. Each of them were angry at at least one other person, except for Benjamin. He remained the pure beacon of light on the ship, though, that meant he had to put up with everyone else's complaining. He didn't mind hearing it from Maria or Damiel, for Maria hardly ever complained to him, and he knew just how to shut Damiel up, but the others... irked him.

Damiel was annoyed at Olivia, Zaina, and Aden for obvious reasons, and vice versa. Maria was considering lopping one of Aden's ears off for speaking so rudely to her previously, while Aden was considering throwing her overboard. Zaina chose to side with big brother and avoided Maria on the ship at all costs. Olivia was frustrated with Maria because while they were training, the woman accidentally snapped one of the German's arrows in half with her sword. She had tried to explain that it was a complete accident, but Olivia wouldn't have it.

They were now divided into three groups: A.Z.O.B, D.M, and B. Even Belle had chosen a side, and that was Aden's side. Of course.

To avoid further conflict on the ship, Benjamin had to assign sections of the vessel to each group. Aden's group would frequent the deck while Damiel and Maria would stay in the hold until Benjamin told them to _politely_ switch places. Honestly, he felt as if he was dealing with children.

Maria and Damiel were fine with this arrangement, though. They liked occupying the hold. They were able to talk to each other, something Damiel missed over the past year since Maria wasn't in any condition to even stand on her own without someone helping her. They honestly had nothing to complain about when in each other's presence.

"So, Maria," he began as he helped himself to an apple. "where are you from again?"

She smiled and picked an apple off of the small tray of fruit set in between them. "I'm from a community just outside of London. How many times have I told you this?"

He munched noisily on the apple and gave her an innocent shrug. "I just like hearing it again is all."

Maria rolled her eyes and took a small bite from the fruit. "I didn't particularly like living there- my main family wasn't exactly pleasant to me since I acted like such a boy." Her eyes took on a dreamy state as she began remembering her childhood. "I often spent time at my uncle's estate in Canterbury."

"Canterbury? That's a little ways off from London, right? How is it there?"

"Ough, it is _beautiful_- at least, it _was_. After my uncle... left..." she swallowed and curled the corners of her lips, but there was nothing enjoyable about the smile. ".. it was neglected. Left to wither and die..." She shook her head and gave a forced smile at Damiel. "But I have good memories there, so I'm glad I at least was able to visit them."

He smiled back at her and took another bite from the apple. "That's good, I was thinking this'd end sadly."

She laughed and raised an eyebrow at him. "You've heard this story how many times, Damiel? And you're wondering how it'd end?"

"Yeah, I know, but I like acting as if I never heard it before. I guess it's just to relive the feeling and memory, y'know?"

"Hmm.." she looked down at her apple in concentration. "Relive... a memory?"

Damiel laughed and swiped a handful of grapes. "Hey, don't go dwelling too much into it, it's just a form of speech."

"I'm aware of what it is."

It remained silent between them as they ate. It was Damiel who broke the quiet, though.

"You know.. sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if I went back home."

Maria's ears perked up from this. "Oh?"

He nodded and looked up at the ceiling of the hold. "Yeah... I guess just to see everyone again, see how they're doin'..."

"I wish I could do that too, even though I never liked my siblings."

He laughed and gently fell backwards so he was laying down on the floorboards. "But who am I kidding, Ria?"

"What do you mean?"

"I won't be welcomed back in with open arms if I ever go back."

She tented her eyebrows together and cocked her head to the side. "And why is that?"

"They... they think me a traitor for leaving." Damiel closed his eyes and gave a grim smile. "Even though it was over ten years ago, they'll still be pretty angry at me."

"Do they not know that you were kidnapped by slavetraders?"

He snorted and threw her a sarcastic look. "Oh, they know, alright, they just want to find some excuse to blame it all on me. Lovely family I have, hm?"

She gave an uneasy laugh and glanced side to side. "Oh, yes, they sound like the epitome of kindness."

"Mhm. Now, I don't mean to gross you out, but my family and people, well.. we're a bit barbaric, I guess you can say." He laughed, a memory clearly seeping its way back into his mind. "Awh, we used to do so many things that the English would frown upon. I bet they'd even label us as savages," he smirked at her and slipped his hands behind his head.

"What's that supposed to mean? You didn't raid towns, cut off the heads of all the women and children and stick them on a pike outside of your own village, did you?"

He remained silent and did his best to conceal a sly smile from her. But, he failed miserably and she gave him a disgusted look. Her mouth hung open with one corner of her lip turned up and her eyes two huge saucers. "Oh, that's repulsive.."

"Aw, Maria, come _on!_ You've such a weak stomach- and we _didn't_ do that, just to let you know."

She exhaled deeply but there were still some traces of disgust on her face. "Heh.. heh... heheh.."

"I mean that we'd use anything we could get. We're not really up to speed with resources and technology like England is. We... we're a bit animal-like..."

She swallowed the last of her apple and gave him a gentle smile. "Could you elaborate on that?"

"..." He remained silent for several minutes. Maria thought that the conversation was ended at that, and she mentally scolded herself for straight out asking him to give information out about himself. One had to be ever so sly and careful when it came to coaxing knowledge out of the boy. It was similar in difficulty to pulling teeth out of a person's mouth that was clamped shut.

Just then, Benjamin decided to clamber down the hatch. He smiled at his two friends and called to them, "Alright, you two, time to switch positions!"

Maria gave a small smile as Benjamin climbed back up the ladder. She was halfway up the ladder when Damiel grabbed her arm and brought her back down to his level.

"We liked keeping animal furs and training dogs- there were even dogs that looked like Bayo and Belle that we trained." He smirked at her and climbed up the ladder. She frowned and thought over what he had said, and then decided to follow him on deck.

* * *

"No coin, no bed. Simple as that." The innkeeper crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Hildegard. He was a big burly man with arms that resembled tree trunks. However, she was not instigated by his appearance. She sighed and tried again.

"Sir, a little girl stole my money from me, I just got off of a boat and rid myself of an unbearable man, I'm tired, I'm hungry, would it be so terrible to have a heart and let me stay?" She gave him the most innocent expression she could. She could have easily seduced him, but she was above that. She no longer was a prostitute.

He scratched his chin and looked at the floor. "Well... I suppose I can work something out... Hmmm.." He gazed into her eyes and kept his face a strict mask as he pondered over his options. She looked up at him hopefully, but soon any chance of having a warm bed for the night vanished as he laughed at her and demanded she leave his hotel.

Hildegard glowered the grave and the devil's servants at the man while she stood her ground. "Fine. I will take my leave of this dreadful place then." Her glare soon turned into a sly smirk when she saw a couple enter the inn out of the corner of her eye. Raising her voice, she finished her thought, "After all, who would _want_ to pay _top coin_ to stay at an inn infested with cockroaches, hm?"

The couple had heard her, just as she planned, and quickly left. Hildegard's snarl turned into a sweet and innocent smile that somehow still reeked of a satisfied quota as she gave her farewell to the innkeeper and headed outside. It was dark out already and she needed some place to stay. She sighed and sat down on a bench a few blocks away from the inn. What she _really_ needed was a bath.

She ran her hands through her hair and scowled from the greasy feeling. Hildegard shivered from a sudden breeze and pulled out a blanket from her satchel and wrapped it tightly around herself. She'd love to make herself a bed out of hay and be lost in the straw as she slept-

The idea caused a lovely grin to play onto her lips as she removed herself from the bench and waddled over to the stables with her satchel slung over her shoulder and her blanket tucked tightly to her body. Of course! Why didn't she think of it before?

However, her idea came crumbling down as she saw a young man keeping watch outside of the stables. He was dressed in thick furs for the cold Arabian night and was sitting down in a crude wooden chair laid out in the sandy earth. Hildegard gulped, but proceeded to walk closer to him. Perhaps he was a nice soul?

"U-um.. excuse me.." she began as she gave him a small timid smile. "I was just wondering-"

"The horses are all sold out, ma'am," he gave her an apologetic smile in return and was completely unaware of the sinking feeling in the woman's chest. "If you wait another week, I'm sure we'll be back with some more."

"Oh, no, no, I wasn't asking for a," she cleared her throat and gulped back her despair, "horse. I was merely looking for a place to stay for the night, if that's alright."

He frowned. "Why, is ol' Akram sold out for the evening?"

She tucked her chin into her neck in confusion. Then it dawned upon her. "Oh, you mean the innkeeper?" She snorted as she shook her head and looked to the sky once again. "If you mean sold out of manners, then, yes, he is."

The man chuckled from her comment. "He was never very generous, miss, take no offense."

"Contrary to what his name means."

He grinned and stood from his chair. "So, what brings you to the stables then?"

She shifted her feet but quickly straightened her posture. Might as well tell him the truth, what more could happen to her? So, she told him. She told him about how she tried being polite to a neglected girl and ended up having her money robbed from her.

He blinked, either in disbelief or astonishment, she couldn't tell. "Well, that's... that's quite a tale you have there- what was the girl's name again?"

"She said it was Azniv, though I doubt it. Probably lied about it."

He chuckled and idly dug his toe into the ground. "Oh, nope, that's her name alright. She's known in these parts of the countryside. She's a thief- don't let her appearance fool you next time. She's got enough money for a month's worth of hotel rooms, believe me."

"Sounds like you met the same fate as me once," she said humorlessly.

He nodded and smiled with the same amount of humor, meaning none at all. "Let's just say when you see a torn up, dirty little girl almost get run over by one of your own horses, you feel responsible and decide to take her in for a day and tend to her. Worst decision of my life."

Hildegard laughed lightly and tilted her head to the side and gave him a scrutinizing look. "What's your name, my friend?"

"Halim al-Kuf," he replied with a small smile. "And yours, miss?"

"Hildegard," she extended her hand out to him. "Hildegard Dove."

He looked at her hand and then back at her. "You aren't from here, are you?"

She slowly withdrew her hand. "Oh, my apologies, I... I forgot my place-"

"Nonsense! You won't hear it from me, I swear." He smiled as he shook her hand with his own. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Dove."

She smiled a small toothy grin at him. She liked this man. "Was it just my actions that gave me away or-"

"Your accent," he said quickly as he smirked at her. "I can tell Arabic isn't your first language and that words come difficultly to you."

"You bet they do," she muttered as she kicked at the dirt. "Halim, would it be brash of me to ask for sanctuary from you?"

Halim laughed and waved his hand in dismissal at her. "Nah, don't even bother asking. Between you and me, I've got a soft spot for those who experience Azniv's trickery, lucky for you. Here, let's get you in the barn."

She smiled gratefully at him as he lead her inside the stable. The smell was the first thing that hit her. And oh, did it _hit her!_

Hildegard recoiled from the aroma of horse, sweat, dung, and animal all combined into one feral stench. If it effected Halim, there was no difference in his stride or posture. "It isn't much, but-"

"It's perfect, Halim. It's much better than sleeping outside." She smiled at him but quickly looked away when his eyes remained on her. There were candles in the stable and he clearly saw how beautiful she was now.

He cleared his throat and shook himself free of the vile spirits that threatened to enter his mind. "I bid you good night, then, Miss Dove."

"To you as well," she replied without looking at him. She remained stiff and stoic until she heard the barn door close quietly behind her. She sighed thankfully that this man had control over his hormones and plopped down onto the warm straw, savoring the feel of it against her skin. True, it was not a bed, but between the cold earth and warm straw... The hay won that little battle of comfort.

* * *

The next morning, the blonde beauty reluctantly removed herself from the straw. Her hair was a mess- she didn't need a mirror to know that- and her clothes had hay clinging to her. She stretched her muscles and limbs out one by one and then began the slow process of removing as much hay as she could from her hair and clothing. Hildegard sighed and shook her head. '_It could have turned out much worse, Hildegard, be thankful for what has happened and what has not happened.'_

She opened the barn door and was instantly relieved when she breathed in the fresh morning air. Good, she had not overslept. This gave her plenty of time to think of a method on reaching Masyaf. It was early Tuesday morning, and she already felt bad enough for not keeping her promise to that damn Assassin. '_He'll just have to live with it, Hildegard. At least you're actually going to show up rather than not going at all.'_

She sat down on the earth in defeat. "But how am I going to get there? Maria's in trouble, there aren't any horses-" she stopped her ramblings when she felt eyes on her. She slowly turned her head to the side and saw Halim walking towards her with a smile on his face. He was bringing a small woven tray of bread, cheeses, and fruits with him. Hildegard stood out of respect and smiled. He waved at her and was soon standing next to her.

"Good morning, Miss Dove. I was just about to wake you." He nodded toward the tray. "I have our breakfast right here, it is up to you where to eat it."

"Are you proposing that there is another option available other than the barn?" she laughed.

He smiled and nodded. "While the barn is sometimes a place of rest, it is the house that people usually dine in. Unless, it is different from where you are from," he said with a facetious smirk. Oh, and how Hildegard needed all the humor she could get.

"Then the house it is." They nodded politely at one another as he led her inside his house.

It was a modest home, to say the least. It was obvious Halim didn't come from the richest family, yet the furniture suited him and his house in a humble manner. Hildegard soon found herself sitting at his table nibbling on bread and fruit and drinking a most delicious and exotic Syrian tea.

"So, where is it that you're from, Miss Dove?"

Hildegard smiled and stared into her bowl of tea. "A little ways from here, actually. About three of four days."

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Ahh? Is that so? And that explains your foreign accent how...?"

She cleared her throat, readying herself to weave one of the biggest lies of her life in a matter of seconds. "My parents were from England, but moved here during the Crusades. Although it's hard to believe, there were some Christians that were completely against the war, so they ventured to the Middle East to try to convince the Crusaders to return back to Europe. However, while they were here..." she trailed her voice off and bobbed her head side to side. "They were a bit preoccupied with themselves. I wasn't exactly supposed to be part of that trip, to say the least."

Halim nodded in understanding. "I see. You've lived a rough life, Miss Dove?"

"Rougher than most," she agreed as she took another drink from the tea. "That explains my accent and my looks."

"Your mother must have been very beautiful," he remarked as he stared intently at her face. She inwardly cringed at his words but kept a small smile on her lips. How many times had the men that forced themselves upon her had said that same exact phrase, she didn't know.

"Thank you, Halim," she managed to say after a few moments. They ate the rest of their breakfast while asking each other a few questions here and there.

"So," he began as they finished eating. "what are your plans for today?"

"Well, first," she said as she helped him clear the table. "I'm going to march back to this 'Akram' and demand he at least allow me to bathe myself in the bathhouse connected to his inn." Hildegard laughed just from imagining herself ordering the giant of a man around.

Halim however, did not find any humor in it at all. "You know, Miss Dove, I could pay for you-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Halim. I've already burdened you enough, I couldn't possibly-"

In one swift moment, he was but an inch from her and held her hand in his own. "But what if I wish to be burdened by you, as you so put it?"

She blinked at him and removed her hand from his. "You really don't know what you're saying-"

Realizing the compromising position he had put him and herself into, he took a few steps back, but still remained close to her. "We are friends, Miss Dove. Consider it a gift, if anything."

"It is a gift I will very much appreciate it, if you insist upon it," she gave a warm smile his way and he beamed at her as he lead her out of the house by her wrist and to the bathhouse. In fact, Hildegard believed that he didn't once take his eyes off of her as he lead the way there. He must have lived in this town for a very long time.

Just as quick as she had been ushered into his house to share breakfast with him, she found herself submerged to her neck in warm, misty water. She sighed and tilted her head back to allow her hair and scalp to become soaked.

It felt absolutely lovely to be able to wash herself after days on that God forsaken boat. She generously applied oils and creams made out of ground herbs to her hair and scrubbed away at the former mass of curls, now sopping wet blanket. She was extremely thankful for this time alone.

After she was done cleaning herself, she waded to the edge of the tub and tilted her head up against it and closed her eyes. She very much missed her friends- and what to think of this Halim figure? He had clearly taken interest in her- no, he had clearly taken interest in a fake woman, a mere facade.

She dismissed him from her mind. He was just a source of well-being, and if she had to use him, then so be it. She would do anything to fulfill the promise to the Assassin and to herself. She promised herself from the first day she met Maria that she would do whatever she could to keep her safe, even if it meant waltzing into a fortress filled with murderers.

They all flooded back to Hildegard: her friends, especially one in particular. She stood from the tub and removed herself from it. Her feet slapped against the cool tile of the bath as she walked to the mirror. She hated what she saw, and oh how much she saw.

There were scars and blisters covering the woman's stomach. Puckered skin and bruises that never faded stretched from her legs all the way down to her feet. One would have thought that she was a leper, but that was not the case. She was a woman abused and a woman that could not find love in the world from men. Both of her biceps had purple lines etched into her skin. How she had become so disgusting... so demonic, so.. _ugly_, she did not know. The men she bed with did not care, for she was not theirs. Why should and would they care if their whore had a scarred body? It was the face, breasts, and most secret of locations that they had wanted and nothing more.

Even her breasts were marred with sickening blemishes.

She stared long and hard at herself in that mirror, never even bothering to wipe the tears streaming from her eyes to fall freely from her chin. She never wanted to become this. She never wanted to give herself away so freely. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth together. She wouldn't be in this situation if Clar-

"Miss Dove?" Her eyes snapped open as she heard Halim's voice and a polite knock on the bath door. "Is everything alright? It's unusually quiet in there..."

'_So he's been listening to me bathe the entire time... He's much more dangerous than I thought. I've got to get out of here and fast...'_She gulped as she answered him, "Yes, everything is fine, Halim." She kept her voice devoid of emotion. If only he knew that she kept a dagger hidden inside of her breast bindings and throwing knives strapped to the inside of her thighs, then she was _sure_ he'd be treating her with a bit more respect than he was already.

"Alright, Miss Dove. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you." A friendly offer- if it was coming from one that was not man. The way he said those words sent a shiver up Hildegard's spine. If it was not his frequent glances in her direction, then it was his tone of voice that gave his little lustful secret away.

She huffed and did not reply to him and rolled her eyes as she finally heard his retreating footsteps. '_Pathetic little man...'_ She glanced at the mirror and sighed. Nothing was going to change the way she was.

Hildegard quickly dried off and changed into a new pair of britches and tunic before shoving her feet inside of her boots once more. She stole one more look in the mirror and held her head high and back straight. She was doing this for Maria, and if Maria was going to be strong, so should she.

* * *

Tuesday- probably the most dreadful day of this week for the Master of Assassins. He kept stealing glances out of his window in his study, waiting for the so-called Hildegard to show her face. It wasn't even noon yet and already he was becoming restless. He was a patient person, as was the requirement for an Assassin, but this was too much of an issue to take lightly. Questions kept nagging at his mind, demanding him to answer them.

Would she show up? Was it a trap? Maybe he should have told Malik..

'_No,'_ he thought to himself as he balled his right hand into a fist. '_You've trusted Malik with a simple task of delivering letters, and look where that's gotten you. Anything that has to do with Maria, he'd raise objection to.'_

He had made sure the Apple of Eden was secured safely away in its vault, paid the barracks his respects, sent commands to the novices, trained with Bayo...

Nothing he did seemed to ease his troubled mine, though. He anxiously awaited this Hildegard- what if she brought Maria with her?

The idea sent relief and terror through him at the same time. The Assassin would do nearly- no, _anything_- to see his beloved Maria once more, but the fact of actually _seeing her again..._ What would she be like? Would she be different? Would she beat him senseless and scream at him for never replying to her letters? Would she... _did_ she even love him still?

He sighed and stole another glance at the window. Nothing yet, but there was so much of the day left.

Altair held a grim expression while he silently suffered internally from not knowing.

* * *

Hildegard lifted her head up as a breeze past through town. After leaving the bathhouse, she had sneaked away from Halim to enjoy the morning with the people. It was such a different place in morning than at night! They were chatting with one another, merchants not yet opening up their stalls paid their visits to their friends, there wasn't hardly any mayhem due to children just waking up, and most importantly, it was _quiet_.

True, there was a lot of conversations going on, Hildegard couldn't deny that, but it fit the town so nicely. It was as if the soil and houses were slowly waking up along with the people. Beautiful.

She closed her eyes as the wind whished through her hair. It felt wonderful as the sun was already blazing hot this early in the day. A smile slowly crept onto her lips and she opened her eyes. Inhaling, she put one foot in front of the other and held her chin with pride as she walked amongst the people.

She had a particular place in mind that she'd like to spend some time at. There was a hill just above the town. One could see the entire village from the vantage point, and she needed something breathtaking at the moment. After all, she had too much on her mind to just walk it off. She needed closure, and if it meant doing some climbing and possibly dirtying herself up again, she'd be willing enough to try.

Hildegard began the walk up the hill and noted with slight disdain that the more she walked, the steeper it got. She huffed but continued her ascent. Finally reaching the top with sweat lightly caking her brow, she sighed from the sight.

It was marvelous how she could literally see _everyone _breathe in the morning and slowly regain their energy as they awoke. She held her hands over her mouth in pure wonder as the town became more and more bustling with each passing second. Soon, it would regain its activity that she had witnessed prior meeting Halim.

'_Ugh, Halim...'_ Hildegard rolled her eyes just from thinking about the man. He was very kind to her, but not the type of company she'd like to keep. One thing was for sure: she needed a horse and fast.

She quickly banished his plain face from her thoughts and replaced it with a much more... _exotic_ picture.

'_Aden... I wonder how you're doing...'_ She wrapped her arms around herself as yet another breeze blew past her. '_I hope you're alright...'_ She sighed. '_What am I saying? Hildegard, regain your senses, woman. He... he doesn't deserve filth like you.'_

And yet he pursued her and never gave up. Did he enjoy toying with her feelings in his innocent and friendly ways? Or did he truly have feelings for her as he and Zaina both claimed? If that was to be the case, then she did not know if she could reciprocate those feelings back to him. No, she had no idea what she thought of the man other than an ally.

He was beautiful in his own elegant way, she had to admit that. Like most men, he had that rough, experienced look to him. But unlike most men, he was absolutely gorgeous with how rugged and slightly worn his face was. It was a witness' face, for he had seen many, many cruel acts throughout his life.

And even though she did not know her feelings for the man, she wished dearly that his strong arms were around her, and not Halim's-

'_Wait... what..?'_ She registered what she had just thought and jumped out of the man's embrace. She stormed around and glared at him, and even though she recognized him, her expression did not falter.

"Miss Dove, I was wondering where you went-"

"_Do. Not. Touch. Me._" She said every word carefully with anger seething from every syllable. Her eyes were wide but narrowed as she glowered at him. _How dare he..!_

He looked absolutely baffled by her sudden change of personality. She was so sweet, so caring, so nice... "Miss Dove, I am sorry to have startled you-"

"_Where the HELL did you get the idea,"_ she lowered her head, deadly dark shadows being cast on her face. "_that you can lay your hands on me in such a manner?"_

"I-I apologize, Miss Dove-"

"Do not speak!" She held her hand out in front of him and turned her head to the side. "Stay your tongue before you do any further damage, and refrain from pursuing me. I am not game that you may freely chase, Halim." She whipped around and swiftly descended from the hill, leaving the man standing there thoroughly confused. '_Serves you right... bastard.'_ She really did not like this man. What a pity it was to have her change her mind about him so quickly...

Ah well, if he did not let her stay the night at the barn if she needed to, then she could always kill him and hide his body, but only if it was absolutely necessary. After all, guests _should_ be grateful.

'_My bloody ass,'_ she thought as she was once again back in town. She was heading back toward the said barn to collect her satchel. She had left it there- _stupid woman!-_on accident, completely forgetting about it. No doubt Halim had already been through it.

After recollecting her satchel and making sure to hold her breath before entering the stable, she was back in town, sitting at the bench she occupied the day before after the little incident with the innkeeper. She snorted from thinking of how rotten her luck had been.

She had endured the endless babbles of a nearly senile old man while on the boat to the Middle East.

Then, she had her money stolen from her by a good for nothing wench.

After that, she had learned that there was hardly any good in a person's heart anymore, seeing as how the innkeeper couldn't understand her situation and let her stay a night.

Oh, and then she met Halim... how _marvelous_.

Hildegard fumed over the man. Having his arms around her felt like her skin was crawling with insects. It felt _disgusting_. So utterly disgusting it caused her face to contract into a painful expression. She hoped she'd never have to see the man again, but knew that was not to be the case. And so she began devising a plan on how to reach Masyaf.

The only way to reach the Assassin stronghold _conveniently_ was by horseback, and there weren't any horses in this village.

Or so she thought.

About an hour had past since Hildegard had occupied the bench. She idly watched the world spin by her as the others in this town paid her no mind. She was probably a madwoman in their eyes, anyways.

She was beginning to think that she had to wait a dreadful week in the custody of Halim for the horses to return from wherever the Hell they went. A week was too much time... the man could already be scheming of a way to force himself upon her for all she knew. Or maybe she was just being paranoid. She didn't know nor care.

Hildegard sighed and stood from the bench and made her way to the outskirts of the town. She wouldn't wander too far, just away from the hustle and bustle of everything going on around her. She'd love to return to the hill she had occupied, but decided against it. Halim was probably keeping a vigil out for her around that area, anyways. Or maybe he was already watching her every move...

"Don't think like that, Hildegard," she said between gritted teeth. "It'll only make things worse, and things are _bad_. _Very_ bad."

She was standing on the opposite side of town. There was sparse vegetation, mainly only small bundles of grass here and there. "Is everything in this country dry and drab?" She sighed and sat down on the earth, bringing her knees to her chest as she rested her chin on them. "I suppose wishing for a miracle to occur would be too naive, but I see no other..." her voice trailed off as she tented her eyebrows together and the corners of her mouth turned downward in a confused grimace. "What the...?"

She felt something tugging at the back of her hair. She rolled her eyes and balled her fist, ready to shove a punch in Halim's face. However, when she turned around, it was not Halim behind her.

It wasn't even a _man_, rather, a _human._

She blinked dumbfounded at the creature before her.

Its soft brown eyes stared right back into her own as they studied each other's faces.

The horse whinnied softly with strands of Hildegard's hair still in its mouth. A smile gradually appeared on her face and she gently stroked its soft muzzle.

"Hey, there, honey," she cooed softly, clicking her tongue. The horse perked its ears up and nudged the palm of her hand. She stood slowly and marveled at the creature. It was a beautiful mahogany brown with short white stockings to compliment its legs. The steed had the warmest of chestnut eyes that Hildegard couldn't help but to admire. Its mane was slightly darker than its coat, however, casting a brilliant contrast between the shades of brown. The color reminded Hildegard of the time she and Maria had attempted to bake bread, but instead burned the dough.

The horse nickered in delight from receiving attention. She placed a gentle kiss on its velvet soft nose and trailed her hand along its neck as she walked along its side. She had to make one quick little check before anything else.

"Alright, then, boy, where's your master, hm?" She smiled at the horse and couldn't help but notice he was already saddled. Someone already owned him, but did she honestly care? A horse was standing right in front of her, practically asking her to ride it back to Masyaf. No, she didn't care.

The horse nudged her with his large forehead and nipped at her hair. Normally, she'd have been disgusted by having a horse slobber all over herself, but she was too thrilled to even care. Hildegard ran her hand over the saddle and frowned when her hand trailed over an emblem.

She outlined it with her finger. It resembled the letter 'A', although it had many more elegant accents and sharp corners to the design. '_How strange... I've never seen anything like it...'_

She shrugged, strapped her satchel to the saddle, and lifted herself onto him. The horse didn't even flinch as her weight descended upon him. Rather, he turned his head to look at her and she swore that he was smiling at her. "Well, my lovely escort, shall we?" She gently dug her feet into his sides with the stirrups, accustoming herself to the gait and movement. It had been a while since she had ridden, and she didn't want to take the chance of injuring her only way to Masyaf with her carelessness.

That is, she didn't want to urge the horse into a full-out gallop until she saw Halim running full speed toward her. She groaned and clicked her tongue in disapproval. The horse's ears flicked backward in response and he let out an annoyed neigh. "Yes, boy, I don't like him either. But let's put on a good show, hm?" Hildegard gently pat his neck and turned to look at Halim.

"Miss Dove! Miss Dove, wait! You mustn't leave just yet!"

She kept a bored expression on as she looked back and forth between man and beast, pretending to ponder over his words. "Mmm, and why is that?"

He was breathing laboriously by the time he reached her. "Miss... Dove!" he said between gasps of air, "Please.. reconsider!"

"I have somewhere I need to be, Halim. You are slowing me down with this-"

"Marry me!" He had grabbed her wrist in an attempt to yank her off of the saddle, but she wouldn't have it. She quickly swatted his hand away and scowled ferociously at him. "Marry me so that we may start a family on our own!"

She shook her head vigorously at him and seriously thought of killing him where he stood, but thought better of it. She didn't want to get any blood on herself after she had just taken a bath. "_Pathetic man_," she spat at him as her eyes became two deadly slits. "I am not interested in such a low request such as-"

"You are seeing another, aren't you?" he interrupted sadly. "I knew it- your beauty was too much to be true."

"And this is why you will never learn to love, _peasant._" She secretly took joy at his hurt expression. "You only know how to love with your eyes, fool!"

He grit his teeth together and reached out to her one more time, but gasped when his hand met the cold steel of a blade.

She smirked despite herself. It wasn't a major cut, just a small nick to his hand, and the man was grasping his palm as if he was experiencing a tourniquet. Pathetic. "_I _am_seeing someone else, Halim,"_ she sneered down at him and bared her teeth at the man. "_And he is a far greater man than you'll ever be! His name is Aden. He is strong, handsome, caring, and knows how to love with his heart, not with his eyes! __**HYAH!**__" _All in one moment, Hildegard dug her heels into the horse and he sped off, galloping away from the physically and emotionally hurt man.

What a heartbreaker Hildegard was.


	10. Chapter 8, Part 2

And here's the second part. Not as long as part 1, but that's just how it is XD

On to more serious matters. My computer has recently been infected with a virus due to my lovely roommate (anyone want to send a search and kill party, feel free to do so), and I lost EVERYTHING. I mean EVERYTHING. I lost all my outlines for this story. So, that means that everything is going to be slightly pushed back while I try to remember everything that's supposed to happen and avoid filling chapters with crap. Mmhm.

And also, come mid-July, I won't be able to work on this story for the most part because of personal reasons. I am very sorry, I'm going to try my best to at least have Altair and Maria reunite before then. GAHHH so much pressure. Thank you for your patience, though, I appreciate it.

Cheers to Christina and Meadjean (mostly Meadjean, though).

Ubisoft owns all original characters, everyone else is my property.

* * *

The boy gulped as the sight before him brought a familiar pang of longing.

"Ehh... Aden? This place sure doesn't look like Acre..." Damiel stood with the rest of the Rose on the boat, his arms crossed over his chest in confusion. They had just docked at a harbor, and Aden had declared quite confidently that this place was Acre. "Wow, the place sure has changed last time I've been here," Damiel snorted and sent a small glare at Aden. "Way to go, Captain Useless."

The Arab frowned and stormed over to Damiel and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. "I'd like to see _you_ do better," he hissed at the boy. Damiel remained unaffected and merely swatted his hand away. Maria strode over to them and grabbed each of them by the back of their necks.

"Will you two," she said between clenched teeth, "stop fighting for FIVE MINUTES!" She shoved them forward and they stumbled and caught themselves. Rather, Aden caught himself while Damiel was launched into Benjamin's back. The old veteran rolled his eye and sighed.

"Benjamin, where _are_ we exactly?" Olivia had wrapped her arm around Zaina in an attempt to reassure the girl that everything would be alright. She looked absolutely terrified.

"Well, we certainly _are not_ in Acre... Hmmm.." Benjamin cupped his chin in one hand and tapped his index finger to his lips. "Ah! Of course! How could I have forgotten this place?"

"Forgotten what?" Damiel said as he clutched his nose. Maria had given him a nosebleed from smashing him into Benjamin's back.

"We are in Jaffa, my dear boy! Jaffa!"

"JAFFA?" they all interjected at the same time. The members shared confused and worried glances with each other before looking back at Benjamin.

Maria cleared her throat, the first one to rid herself of the shock. "Benjamin, isn't Jaffa a long ways off from Acre?"

"Mmm, it's about a week's ride, plus stopping at towns along the way, so, I'd say... ten days?"

They all groaned from hearing this, particularly Damiel, but his whining came out nasily.

Aden sighed and looked at the docks. "Jaffa... it's been a long time since I've been here." He gave his sister a small smile and stepped out off of the gangplank. Damiel soon followed after him with a bloody nose. Aden had half the mind to throat him into the water, but he chose not to, because he could feel Maria's glare on his back. '_Terrifying woman..'_

"Well? What are we waiting for?" Damiel turned around to his friends and gave them a small smile. "Are we just going to stand around and not take the opportunity right in front of us? _Come on!_" He jogged off ahead of them, leaving them behind in their perplexed stares.

"... How is it that he has so much energy, Maria?"

"I have no idea, Olivia." They shrugged and jogged past Aden and after the boy. The man rolled his eyes but stayed with his group.

Jaffa was very different from Acre. For one thing, it wasn't nearly as gloomy as the other port. While Acre had clouds restricting the sunlight from pouring down onto the city, Jaffa had an abundance of sunlight and heat- much to Damiel's annoyance. The entire place had a joyful atmosphere to it; the people, the whitewash houses, the plants, the marketplace. Everything was vibrant and alive in this city. Even the water was bright and had streaks of gold running across its ripples from the sun.

The sight made Maria smile despite their situation.

"Hey, Benny?" Damiel said as he stopped his little tour guide.

"Hmm?"

"Where the Hell am I?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Benjamin merely chuckled and gently pushed the boy aside.

"We're near the inns and bathhouses-"

"Bath? Near? Where, where?" Damiel looked at the man with huge eyes and a desperate smile. "Take me to this bath! I smell like year old tuna!"

Olivia leaned her head towards Zaina's ear and whispered, "So _that_ was the stench on the ship." The girl giggled and Aden smiled at her. Damiel sidled over to Maria and nudged her arm with his elbow. She raised an eyebrow at him but kept following Benjamin. He nudged her again and bobbed his head side to side. She sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

"_What?"_ she hissed at the boy.

"Just think about it, Ria.." he murmured to the woman, "soon we'll be at Acre, we'll deal with the Templars... and then live our lives."

She sighed in annoyance and boxed him in the ear. "I _know that, _Damiel." She growled at him and walked to the side of Benjamin. "Benny," she whispered in the man's ear. "Permission to remove Damiel's tongue?"

He sighed and narrowed his eyes at her. "Only if I'm not around."

"Hey, less talking, more walking!" Damiel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, his nosebleed finally put to an end. "I don't know if you heard me before, but _I need a bath!_"

The others ignored him and Aden smiled a brilliant, dazzling grin at the boy. "Say, Benjamin, mind telling us how you know your way around Jaffa?" It was clever on Aden's behalf, seeing as how Benjamin had trouble walking while speaking. So, the man slowed down, much to Damiel's dismay, to address Aden's question.

"Ahh, well, as you know, I've been to most places in the Middle East due to the Crusades and whatnot," he gave a shrug and glanced at Maria. "I even got to do some travelling with your tutor Doctor Foo."

Her eyes widened and she blinked in surprise. "He invited you to join him on one of his adventures?"

"Oh but of course! He and I are great friends, Maria!" It wasn't a surprise to her. Benjamin knew most of the authorities and always had a way to snivel information out of people. But the actual thought of Doctor Foo and Benjamin travelling together was a shocker. Doctor Foo always did love venturing off into the unknown, and he had even been to uncharted territories. It was impressive, to say the least.

"Who cares about this 'Foo' man, Benny.." Damiel whined as he stamped his foot. "Can we just get to the baths?"

Benjamin ignored him and continued on with his explanation. "I spent a year or two at Jaffa when I was younger- _much _younger. It still has its charm, I see," he mused as his eyes wandered over the whitewash houses. There were flowers and plants decorating the rooftops while ivy crawled up the sides of houses. It really was a beautiful place.

Maria smiled, but it quickly faded. She looked down at her feet while she walked. Only ten more days until Acre...

'_Acre... I wonder how it is. Probably still dreadful as always... I hope I don't run into __**him**__ there...'_

She stopped in her tracks when Benjamin had reached their destination. The Rose looked up in awe at the bathhouse. It was a colossal of a building with intricate designs carved into the framework.

"Ahh, here we are! This is probably the finest sauna-" Benjamin choked his words back as the others bustled past him and into the doors of the house. He sighed and shook his head before he too barreled into the bathhouse himself.

The others were already at the counter paying for their baths. He sighed once more and gave his friends a humorless smile. The girls, including Belle, left the counter and proceeded to the section of the sauna specified for females only, while Aden left to the male section. Damiel, however, stayed at the counter to chat with the lovely hostess.

"So, what's your name?" he said as he casually leaned his arms on the counter. "I don't think we've ever met before."

The woman wore a light orange headdress made out of silk that concealed most of her face from the boy. But from what he could see, she had the most beautiful hazel eyes ever. "It really is not that important, sir, I assure you," she said quickly as she glanced behind the boy at a very impatient Benjamin tapping his foot. "You may proceed to the baths, now."

"Awh, can't we talk a little?" He threw her a charming smirk and winked at her. "Maybe you and I can take a midnight walk togeth-"

Benjamin shoved Damiel out of the way and the boy hit the wall with an '_oof!'_ and landed on the floor with a thud. The man smiled politely at the woman. "Please, forgive the boy, he is yet young and _very stupid_."

She giggled and pocketed the coins he gave her to pay for his bath. He all but dragged Damiel across the floor as he walked towards the male district of the house. He grumbled under his breath, saying that they _really_ needed to work on the boy's manners.

* * *

"There is _no way_ in _Hell_ that I am going to share a bath with _him._" Damiel stood at the edge of the tub with his arms folded across himself and his chin held highly in the air, sneering down at Aden while he relaxed against the opposite end of the tub, his arms resting against the edges.

"Damiel, for once," Benjamin began as he entered the water. "can you show a bit of maturity?"

The boy huffed and sniffed. Slowly, he pulled off his tunic and tugged his britches off. "I can't believe I'm sharing a bath with an _Arab_.."

"And I cannot believe I am sharing a bath with a _dog_." Aden laughed when the boy glared at him. Damiel lowered himself in the tub, aware that the man's eyes were on him the entire time.

"Please do not confirm that you are being aroused by a man, Aden," he sneered. "Although, I _did_ figure you to be the type-"

"I am merely wondering what my sister would think if she saw how _small_ your, ah..." his voice trailed off as an amused smirk played over his lips. "...your _manly pride _was.."

Damiel's face turned several shades darker as steam practically shot out of his ears in anger. He stood up in the tub and was about to clobber Aden if it had not been for Benjamin grabbing onto his arm and hauling him back down in the water.

"Like I said, _maturity_."

Damiel clenched his jaw firmly and bared his teeth at Aden. '_Stupid, smelly hairy Arab..'_

* * *

Maria plucked the hair tie and pins out of her hair and let her locks cascade down onto her shoulders as she sat down on one of the ledges in the tub. Zaina and Olivia were splashing each other with the water, completely oblivious to the other woman's sour mood. Even Belle, who had senses far greater than their own, didn't seem to notice the sorrowful aura surrounding Maria. The dog was happily standing at the edge of the tub, wagging her tail as she avoided the water being splashed at her by the two girls.

Maria sighed and slid further down into the tub so that the water rose to her mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed her muscles to loosen and relax from the heat.

* * *

"_Maria? What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing, John, don't worry about me! I'm okay!"_

_"Maria! John! What are you two doing? It's past your bedtimes!"_

_"Awww, but, Daaaavy! We aren't tired!"_

_"I do not care if you have all the energy in the world and beyond, you get yourselves to bed this very moment!"_

_"Who made **him **the boss?"_

_"I don't know..."_

* * *

She blinked and stared at the water, seeing her own reflection. What _would_ she do once they handled the Templars? There wasn't exactly anywhere she would go. England was most certainly not an option, and she couldn't return to her brothers and sisters. No, she was still seen as a failure to them- a disgrace to their family. She didn't blame them for thinking that way, though. After all, she _did_ run away from her good for nothing husband to sneak into the Crusades. Ahh, what was that man's name again? Nicholas? Joseph?

Maria closed her eyes once more and paid little attention to the two girls giggling and the sound of water splashing. She had no idea what she'd do in the end.

'_I could always pay that damn Assassin a visit and break his nose... and his arms, and legs, and his blasted prick.'_ She smirked despite herself from the mere thought of it. She'd love to teach that insult of a man a lesson or two. How dare he not reply to even _one_ of her letters...!

She frowned and began massaging the oils and creams extracted from plants into her hair. '_Don't think about him, Maria, he'll just ruin your day, and your day isn't going well to begin with.'_

* * *

Hildegard urged the horse to go faster and faster, the wind whipping through her hair and the beast's mane. She was crouched low in the saddle and was grinning wickedly. Ahh, how it felt _good_ to be out of Halim's clutches! She laughed and the horse whickered in reply. Seems that _he_ didn't like him either.

Every passing moment brought them closer to Jerusalem. Her plan was to stay the night on the outskirts of town with her lovely horse as her source of heat and comfort. Since she had no money on her thanks to a certain little thief, she couldn't afford to spend a night in an inn, let alone buy food for herself. She sighed from thinking about it. Hildegard didn't want to lower herself down to Asniv's level, but she had to eat _something_ if she wanted to make it to Masyaf without looking like a starved kitten.

She narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of guards on patrol a few hundred meters ahead of herself. "Whoa," she lowered her voice as she repeated the command to the horse. Its ears flicked back and it gradual slowed down into a peaceful trot. She tugged on the left rein and guided the animal off of the main road. '_Looks like I'll be creating my own path to get to Masyaf...'_ She frowned at the guards ahead and stuck her tongue out at them. She couldn't risk being recognized by one of them. If she was caught, then it'd be the end of her and her journey would be pointless.

"Come on, boy," she said as she gently pat the animal's wet neck, the sweat glistening off of his brown coat. She swung herself out of the saddle and began leading him through the rocky uncharted terrain. "Looks like we'll be adding an extra two hours to our way to Jerusalem," Hildegard sighed and shook her head. "No, I must remain optimistic. This could have been far worse than it actually is."

* * *

Damiel and Maria sat at one of the small tables in the bathhouse's lobby. It turned out that the place was not just a sauna, but an inn as well, and Benjamin had insisted they spend the night there and begin their journey for Acre bright and early the next morning.

Damiel was slouched over the table, his head resting in one hand while the other drummed against the wood. He was clearly annoyed with what he was seeing.

"Look at him, Maria, just just just... just _look_ at him!" he hissed in disgust as he watched Aden through slitted eyes as he leaned against the counter, talking to the hostess with a charming smile on his handsome face. "Just _look_ at him..."

Maria glanced at Aden and sighed. From where Damiel was sitting, he could not see Aden slipping the girl a coin or two, bribing her to speak with him to make Damiel jealous. However, Maria was not in the mood to barge in on Aden's secret. "Mmm, I'm looking, Damiel, and I don't see anything worth while."

He scowled at Maria and slumped further. "How is it that she would want to speak with _him_ and not _me?_ Maria, he's like, ten years older than her!"

She rolled her eyes and calmly folded her hands neatly on the table and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Maybe it's because you're straight forward with your emotions?"

He glared at his friend and stuck his tongue out at her. "Oh, _yeah_, uh huh, that _has_ to be it. I hear women say all the time how men are such confusing creatures and how they hide their feelings. Well, what's the problem in _showing_ your feelings?"

Maria simply smiled at him and kept quiet. He groaned and slammed his forehead into the table. "Women ask for too much.."

"No, men just don't know what to give us."

He whimpered and raised his head to look at her. "Say, did you ever think about meeting someone else?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and replied, "What do you mean by 'someone else'?"

"You know, finding another man and eventually settling-"

"No."

He furrowed his eyebrows together and shook his curls away from his eyes. "That's a pretty lonely existence, Ria..."

"It isn't a lonely existence. It is a quite happy existence in my opinion," she retorted.

He smirked. "Lonely."

"Happy."

"Lonely."

"_Happy."_

_"Lone-ly."_

_"Hap-py."_

_"Id-i-ots."_ Olivia smiled mischievously at her two friends while she pulled a seat over to their table and sat down next to them. The two of them glared at her as she casually plopped her hands on the table and looked at each of them smugly. "Why the mean faces? I just wanted to have a say in the argument."

Damiel rolled his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. "Sure, sure.." He stopped the assault on his head to glance at the other side of the room. Maria casually followed his gaze and her eyes settled on Zaina. The girl was sitting at another table, spoiling Belle and pampering the hound. Maria sighed from seeing her show so much affection to the dog. No wonder Belle was such a disappointing warrior...

Olivia snapped her fingers in front of Damiel's face. He quickly looked away and tilted his head to the side in question at the Germanwoman. She simply smirked at him and looked over her shoulder at Aden. "I see Aden has found himself flower?"

Maria chuckled and shook her head slightly. "And it's making Damiel quite jealous."

"I am _not_ jealous!" he groaned and got up from his seat. "By the Heavens above, why am I the target of harassment today?" He marched his way over to another table and sat down on it. Benjamin soon joined the boy and they began looking through a map he had scrolled out onto the table.

Just then, Aden gave the hostess a chaste kiss on her knuckles and strolled over to where the two women were and helped himself to Damiel's former seat. He eased back in the chair and rested an elbow on the armrest. "I take it he is still oblivious?"

"Mhmm," the two women replied and nodded.

"As blind as bat," Olivia said with a snicker.

"You really do enjoy playing with his emotions, don't you, Aden?" Maria asked the man with an amused expression on.

He looked over at Damiel. Benjamin had waved the boy off to bring him a booklet off of the shelf. However, to reach the shelf, he had to pass the table the three of them were occupying.

Olivia saw Damiel make his way over as well. She raised her voice, "Ahh, indeed! Paying the hostess just to speak with you... genius, Aden, genius."

Damiel stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head in their direction. He glared at Aden and narrowed his eyes at the man. The Arab simply leaned back in the chair and rested his head in the palm of his hand. The nine and ten year old boy slowly resumed walking to the shelf.

Aden chuckled and shook with humor as he watched the boy eyeing him while browsing through the catalogues. "Ahh, it is much too fun to toy with him, I swear.."

"Can't be healthy," Maria said as a thought. She gave a small smile at Damiel and shrugged at him. He simply shook his head at her and mouthed the word 'traitor' at her. She rolled her eyes at him.

Benjamin called impatiently for the boy to return with the book. He complied, but not without thrusting his palm in Aden's direction and curling his fingers into a fist, all except his middle finger. Aden looked amused from the curse.

* * *

_"Aunt Emily! Aunt Emily! I can play it now- I can play the song!"_

_"Oh, Sarah, you can? Oh, that is brilliant! Come here into... Aunty's arms, my dear."_

_"Aunt Emily, I want to- JOHN! Give me back my doll!"_

_"Haha! Can't catch me, Maria!"_

_"I'LL BREAK YOUR NOSE, YOU DUMB BOY!"_

* * *

The night would be over soon, bringing the morning rays of the sun as it departed from the world, and still no sign of Hildegard. Altair narrowed his eyes as he stared out of his window. It was all a trick- a clever attempt from the Templars to-

...To what, though? What did the Templars gain from this? This did not hurt the Brotherhood whatsoever, seeing as how no one showed up, so what was the reasoning behind this scheme?

Altair looked down at Bayo who was standing loyally by his side. Bayo seemed to know who Hildegard was. Just mentioning the woman's name had his tail wagging in mere seconds. So, she was a friend in the dog's eyes. Did something happen to her? Was she killed? Perhaps she was lost?

He sighed, not knowing which possibility to settle with. Was everything in the letter a lie? Did Maria even give birth to his son? Was Maria even still _alive?_

The Assassin closed his eyes and set his mouth in a grim line. He didn't want to consider that option. He was never one to run away, but the pain that'd bring him... He had already lost Adha in his life, he didn't need to lose Maria as well.

Well, he already _did_ lose Maria, but to have her removed from the Earth would tear his insides apart.

He opened his eyes once more to gaze out of the window. He shook his head and sprinted out of his study and exited the fortress. He looked above him and climbed the walls of the fighting courtyard until he was standing on one of the ramparts.

Altair spent the next hour, the last of the night, staring out at the distance, waiting for the sound of a horse thundering down towards Masyaf.

But it never came.

He closed his eyes and shuddered, but not from the sudden change in temperature.

Hildegard was not coming, and Maria was gone from his life forever.

* * *

Hildegard spurred the horse on as she came across a suitable place to spend the night. There was a small thicket of trees a short distance from Jerusalem's grand gates with plenty of grass for her steed to feast upon. The horse trotted and came to a stop as she climbed out of the saddle and landed on her feet with a thud. The ride had caused her thigh muscles to bunch together uncomfortably. She hissed as she stretched her legs out and quickly plopped her bottom on the earth. She massaged her thighs while her horse looked over at her while munching happily on the grass. Her stomach growled from lack of food and she rolled her eyes at the beast when he gave an amused stare at her.

"I know I'm pathetic, but you needn't rub it in so boldly," she whispered at him. He swished his tail and flicked his ears in response. She sighed and slowly stood up. The woman winced as her muscles protested earnestly, yet she had to make sure that her ever so honest horse wouldn't decide to run off during the night. She searched through her satchel until she found a rope. She quickly tied it loosely around the horse's neck, and then tied it to one of the low branches of the tree. He nibbled at her hair and she gave him a warm smile before rubbing her palm up and down his forehead. "Whoever your master was before, boy," she said as he nipped at her sleeve, "must have loved to spoil you, huh?"

He replied by snorting and nudging her with his head. She took a step back, but giggled when he began playfully running his silky yet ticklish lips against her hand. "I have to go find me something to eat now, honey," she kissed his forehead and ruffled his mane between his ears. "I'll be back soon, don't you worry." She gave him one last pat on his neck before she took off toward the gates.

She did her best to comb her fingers through her hair, removing the snarls and knots. The only way for her to be allowed inside the city was if she past as an innocent, and well, her garments spoke the opposite. Hildegard gulped and walked toward the guards stationed at the gate, hoping they'd let her through.

Lucky for her, they were young and ill-experienced. They gawked at her when she gave them a sly, flirtatious smile, and quickly stepped out of the way. She kept her bewitching facade until she finally past them, then rolled her eyes in disgust. '_Men...'_

The streets were vacant, however, the merchants already closed up shop for the night and had returned to their homes and families. However, if the place had any influence due to the Crusades and had any resemblence to London, Hildegard knew that there was _always_ a vendor or two that kept their business running all through the night. One would call it illegal, but she couldn't care less if she had to resort to using the blackmarket. At least she'd have a satisfied stomach.

She quickly rounded a corner and walked as fast as she could without alerting any of the guards on patrol. They were always more alert during the night, and no doubt it already seemed suspicious that a young woman such as herself was out and about alone. And Hildegard knew just how quick a man's mind can change about protecting the public when a pretty face strolled right on by. If she had to defend herself from an assault, she was well prepared. She had the knife tucked safely away in her breast bindings and another dagger stashed away in her boot. Yes, she was ready for an attack, even if she was lacking her armor.

A smirk appeared on her face as she saw what she was looking for. A shady figure was nervously looking side to side at the entrance of a dark alley. Hildegard casually strolled over to him and smiled sweetly. The man looked absolutely terrified, but quickly settled down when he realized it was a woman approaching him. After all, what could a _woman_ do to a man?

Hildegard was familiar enough with the method on how the blackmarket worked. Agents would be collecting money from the people interested in purchasing the goods, while the actual vendors would be visiting the customers secretly.

"You here for the goods?"

She sighed in relief. She had found her agent without too much difficulty. "Yes... and no."

He frowned and took a step back, half of him being concealed in the shadows. "State your business then."

She gave him a small smile, then launched herself at him as she pinned him to the ground and held a knife at his throat. "Now, listen carefully, my good friend," she growled at him. His eyes were two giant saucers as he registered what had just happened in a mere four seconds. "If you do not give me your earnings, I will have no choice but to cut you down right here and leave your body for the rats."

He gulped, but gave a disgusting smirk at her. His teeth were rotten and yellowed and his breath smelled utterly foul. "And if I scream?"

"Hmm, I didn't think about that," she clicked her tongue to her teeth and shook her head sadly. "I thank you for opening my eyes to such an option." Before he could question her, she slid the knife across his throat and closed her eyes to the red liquid seeping down onto the dusty floor. "May you find peace in the afterlife." She opened her eyes and quickly searched his body for what she was looking for. She smiled grimly when she heard the jingle of money. She tore open his robes and snatched the bundle of coins and jogged out of the alley, sliding the dagger back into her tunic.

Her stomach protested yet again from not having any food as she quickly walked away from the crime scene. She did her best to stay out of the guards' sight, but some of them had noticed her and had given her a lustful stare. She snorted and sent them vicious glares but continued on. She would have loved to walk right up to them and smack them across the cheek before slitting their throats, but she had bigger fish to fry. No, she had an impatient stomach that demanded food as it screamed 'FEED ME!' over and over again.

She huffed as she saw a merchant just closing up his stall. She jogged over to him and gave him a small smile. "Please tell me you'll sell this late at night..."

He looked at her, narrowed his eyes, and then left with a 'hmph'. She slouched and then glared at his retreating figure. '_Useless...'_

However, she would not give up just yet. '_Dammit.. where in the name of all life are the blasted blackmarket traders?'_ She cursed under her breath as she continued searching for the vendors for another hour. There wouldn't be any luck for Hildegard that night, though, and no food for her either.

* * *

"_Maria, wait for me!"_

_"Hurry up, John! You're too slow!"_

_"When are you two going to stop terrorizing the town with your banter?"_

_"Sooorrry, Daaavy!"_

* * *

_"You are a useless daughter! A USELESS DAUGHTER! How DARE you disgrace me and your husband in such a way?"_

_"You MONSTER! I'd sleep with a THOUSAND MEN if it meant disgracing you!"_

_"You will NOT talk to me that way, you bitch! How DARE you speak to your own father with that tone!"_

_"And how dare you treat your bastard daughter, your FAULT, so rudely! How DARE-"_

_"ENOUGH! If it means beating my own child, then so be it!"_

* * *

"We should probably rest for the night," Benjamin said as he folded his map neatly back up. He looked at the others and gave them all a smile. "We've a big day ahead of us- plenty of riding to do."

The others nodded in agreement and began trudging up the stairs to their rooms. Damiel, however, stayed sitting down at the small table as he idly twiddled his thumbs together. Benjamin was about to follow the others when he noticed the boy sitting all alone. "Something wrong, my boy?"

Damiel looked at him with a sad expression on and quickly shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about me, Benny, I'm fine," he lied to his friend. The man shifted and walked over to Damiel. However, before he sat down, Damiel stood up and quickly took a step back away from him. "I just need some air and time to think, I'll be back in an hour."

Before Damiel could scurry away from him, Benjamin gently grabbed his arm. "Damiel, are you sure everything is alright?" The boy gulped and nodded. "You know if anything is troubling you, you need only speak up. I'd be more than willing to talk to you."

"I know, and thank you for the offer, but I really need some time on my own." He shrugged out of his grasp and walked with all haste out of the door. "Good night, Benny," he called once he turned the handle.

Benjamin frowned but did not follow him. He could always spy on the boy, he knew that, but he wanted Damiel to open up on his own and learn to trust his friends. '_The Lord only knows what goes on in that boy's mind...'_

* * *

"_Hey, hey... shhh, don't cry, little girl. Habibi, don't you cry. Now, tell me, sweetheart, what happened?"_

_"Father, he... he cut me... my back... won't stop bleeding..."_

_"Turn around, then, habibi, and let this crippled man bandage your back."_

* * *

Damiel inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply once he was outside. Being cooped up on the ship had seriously taken its toll on the boy. He was used to open environments, not the confining walls of a ship's cargo room. He balled his hands and shoved them in his pockets as he strolled along the streets of Jaffa. The sun was just beginning to set, casting vibrant reds, oranges, and exotic yellows across the city. The houses seemed to be on fire from the light shining down upon them while dark shadows were being cast by the sun's angle. Damiel sighed and hung his head low. It reminded him too much of home. He wanted to leave Jaffa as soon as possible and never return again. He had a sinking feeling inside of him- the feeling of being homesick. '_Why am I feeling this way? They don't care about me. Brother is too much of an ass to even be grateful or relieved that I'm alive.'_ He avoided the scrutinizing glares from the people still casually walking the streets, browsing the stalls and making last minute purchases. Normally, he would have had a cheerful smile plastered on his face, walking with a bounce in his steps, but not tonight. No, tonight he had something to do.

He shook his curls out of his face as his strides quickened in pace. He unconsciously shifted and twisted his body to make his way through the crowd while his eyes were scanning a structure one hundred yards ahead of him. He stared the tower down while his feet brought him closer and closer to his target.

Finally making it out of the crowd, he allowed himself to run full-out down the street, still ignoring the citizens' shocked expressions. He pumped the energy through his legs as he headed down an alley that led to a deadend. His eyes narrowed as he ran closer and closer to the wall. He didn't need to think twice about what he was doing, it all came so naturally. A mere foot from colliding with the whitewashed stone, he leapt off of the ground and grabbed hold of one of the windows. He dug his feet into the wall and leapt higher still, grabbing the edge of the rooftop with both hands. He pulled himself on top and turned his head to the side once he regained his breath. The tower was right before him, a lonely soldier keeping watch on its city. Damiel gave a firm nod, and took a good five steps backwards, giving himself distance to cover before he all but threw himself onto the side of the viewpoint.

His muscles tensed and then released as he burst into action once more. He neared the tower faster than he did the wall and braced himself as he separated himself from the roof and launched his body at the structure. He grunted when his ribs made impact with the hard stone, but did not loosen his grip on one of the bricks jutting out from the side. He shimmied and scaled the side, looking for something else to hold onto. Damiel smirked when he saw more loose stone just above him, and once again gave a small leap to reach the outcropping. He continued this process: scale, leap, grab, until he reached the top. He was getting higher and higher, farther and farther away from the ground. He didn't dare look down, though. He knew if he did, he'd say 'hello' to the dusty street face-first.

The vantagepoint had an angled and pointed top, but it also had a plank sticking out from the peak. Damiel grabbed onto the wood and hoisted himself onto it, sighing when he could finally relax from the climb. He hadn't done that in what seemed an eternity.

He carefully shifted his weight and spread his body across the plank so that he was laying down on it. He rested his back against the roof ot the viewpoint and gazed up at the sky. The sun had left the world for the night, and in its place stood the isolated yet beautiful moon. He couldn't explain what compelled him to stare at the stars in such a way, or the fact that tears were slowly rolling down his face.

Jaffa had reminded him _too much_ of home.

The thought of his birthplace always sent pangs of sorrow throughout his body. The sadness was too overwhelming to talk about, so he chose to always avoid the topic whenever someone would bring it up in conversation. Even if it was a happy memory, he wouldn't want to talk about it. He couldn't accept the fact of what he had been born into- no, he could never accept that. It was too much for him to know that his life was already laid out right in front of him, even before he exited his mother's womb. Damiel always became depressed from thinking about it.

The boy closed his eyes and whiped the tears with the back of his hand. He tried to think of something other than his home, but memories of his parents, his brother, his family all flooded back to the boy. He was lost in a sea of emotion, and before he knew it, sobs were escaping his lips and his eyes were swollen from crying. He remembered all the times that he'd anger his mother when he never did as she asked him to, how he'd never eat his vegetables or tend to his chores. She'd always discipline afterwards, either verbally or orally, and then wrap him in a warm embrace and tell him to do as he was told. She'd start crying once he'd become overwhelmed with guilt and bawl his eyes out.

The times when he'd wander off in the woods and collect stones and bring them back to his father with hands outstretched. His father would always smile- such a kind smile he had- and pick his boy up, swing him around in the air while he held onto his waist, and kiss his forehead while he lowered him back to the ground.

Whenever Damiel would have a nightmare, all he had to do was waddle his way to his parents, and they'd immediately understand and make room for him in their bed. He felt so safe, so secure, so _loved_ being embraced by both of them while he slept. In the morning, his mother would ask him what his dream was. It would always be something silly, like the dog turning into a giant monster and eating him. She didn't mind, though. She'd simply kiss him and hold him close to herself, telling him that mother would always be there to hold him when he needed it. His father would put a hand on his tiny shoulder and wrap him in his own strong hold and promise him that father would always be there to fend off any monster that he came across.

What a fool he was to believe those words.

'_Where are you now, then?'_ He gulped back the heavy lump in his throat and stared through the tears clouding his vision back up at the sky. '_You promised me you'd protect me... you... you...'_ He cleared his throat and-

"_YOU PROMISED ME! YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME! YOU SAID THAT YOU'D ALWAYS BE THERE! YOU..._ you..." His anger died down as he could no longer find the energy to support it. He might as well have been a small child again by how many tears he had already shed, and yet there were still more to come. Much, much more.

"You said... 'Dammi honey, your mother and I love you. We will always be with you... always love you... forever..' You... bastard..." He cried out once more and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to mimic the way his parents had held him. "You said... everything... everything I needed was there, right there... everything I ever needed was found in love..." Damiel repositioned himself so that he was kneeling on the plank. He threw his head back to rid himself of the curls in front of his eyes and continued looking up at the starry sky. " 'Dammi bear, mother will always be right here,' " he moved his hand over the left side of his chest and gave it a weak pat. He swallowed once more, readying himself to shout into the atmosphere once more.

"_WHAT IF YOUR HEART WAS TORN FROM YOU BY YOUR OWN BROTHER? YOU NEVER SAID... YOU NEVER SAID THAT ONCE YOU TWO DIED HE'D BANISH ME! YOU NEVER SAID THAT HE'D PUT A DEATH-WISH ON MY HEAD! You never said anything..._ only empty promises... lies... deceiving, sweet lies..."

He bit his trembling lower lip and lowered his head into his stomach as he wept once more. All the years of holding it in, having no one by his side, all the times when he was whipped for even breathing, even burned once when he did not clean a window the correct way... the sweet bliss his tears gave him seemed to make up for all the times he needed closure. The feeling of having a huge weight lifted off of his shoulders soon descended upon him as he slowly regained a sound mind.

"I try, Father, I really try..." he said between gasps of hysteria, "I try... I try to hold myself together... I try so hard to make you proud..." He smiled, but it soon turned into a grimace as more tears spilled forth from his eyes. "I hide behind walls of curses and foul language so that no one knows how... how..." He gulped. It was now or never for him to confess. "_HOW PATHETICALLY WEAK I AM!_ Father.. I can't do this..." He keeled over and let his head softly hit the board. "I try so hard to be strong like you, try my best to keep my head held high and proud. I cannot do this on my own, and so I ask- no, and so I _beg _of you, Father." He stood up on the plank and lifted his head up, the tears drying from a sudden breeze. It was as if his father had asked the heavens to blow his son his breath- his courage, his heart, his soul. "Let your wings guide me, Father."

Damiel suddenly ran to the edge of the plank, jumped from the wood, and let the sky take him. He kept his arms outstretched, feeling the wind whip past his body as he descended from the tower...

...and into the bales of hay below.

* * *

Maria couldn't sleep that night. She was lying in bed, the sheets kicked off of her while she tossed and turned restlessly. Nothing was comfortable enough for her, it seemed. She dreaded the morning, for they would be moving towards Acre. In fact, she dreaded even thinking about that city. She wished never to venture inside its walls ever again.

Thinking of Acre meant that she immediately thought of _him_.

Maria frowned when his face appeared in her mind. So handsome, so deadly, _such a bastard_. And yet how she loved that bastard.

She sighed and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She learned while in the military that if you couldn't sleep due to something nagging at your mind, better walk it off, soldier. And that is exactly what she did. She silently crept down the stairs, careful not to wake the hostess up. The woman held her breath and snuck quickly out the door and gently clicked it shut. Maria breathed in relief when she was finally outside. No one else was out at this hour and she had no idea where it was she wanted to go. She shook her head and dug her toe into the ground, annoyed that she didn't ask Benny for the basic layout of the city. Maria sighed and began wandering aimlessly around the streets. She didn't have a destination in mind, but she soon realized that she could live with it.

In fact, she preferred it over her usual schedule- always having an _exact_ location to go to, always knowing _exactly_ what to do. She was tired of it. She was tired of needing a direct and exact answer to everything. And so she walked without a care in the world or the vaguest idea as to what she wanted.

* * *

_"Shh, John, be quiet! You'll get us caught!"_

_"What do you mean? Davy snores like a bear!"_

_"Yeah, but he's sensitive to-"_

_"What are you two doing in my bedroom?"_

_"Busted..."_

* * *

She shivered from the night's cold touch and wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. She remembered how _that_ night in Acre was. She waited for what seemed like hours outside of what was formerly William of Montferrat's stronghold. It was brutally cold, her skin purpling and becoming speckled with bumps. Maria recalled how her breath came out in white clouds as she breathed in and out while she looked side to side, waiting for her dear Assassin to arrive.

However, her body was soon warmed up not only from the sudden rush of hormones, but also from the Assassin's warm body laying on top of her own, as if he was protecting her and showing the world that she belonged to him and only to him.

'_Well, I'm not yours anymore, you crooked bloody elbow. I am no one's; I simply belong to myself.'_ She grunted and hunched her shoulders from even thinking of the man. '_I should have killed you while I had the chance to on Cyprus... why in God's name did I end up helping you?'_

_'Because it's what your heart told you to do, Maria,'_ she thought to herself as her internal conflict raged on. She was having an argument with her own mind; one part of her defending that man's miserable ass while the other part defended her own pride. '_You learned what the Templars were really after, and you opposed it. I did not! How DARE you lie to me in such a way! I simply wanted to get out of the situation that I landed in, not help that goon! That may be, but you DID help him survive, amongst other things as well. I regret helping him with his sexual needs. Now, silence yourself before I make you! You enjoyed coupling with him, though. I did not- You enjoyed the feeling of him inside you, how he completed you. Admit it, woman! You love that man and you'd do just about anything to see him once more, to feel his lips on yours as he claimed you as his. Do not even try to deny that. You cannot hold me responsible for what I did that night, and I regret it deeply. Then whose fault is it, and if you regret it, why does your heart beat so erratically from just mentioning him? ...'_

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Just lovely, Maria. _Perfect_. Not only are you cold, heartbroken, and miserable, but now you're _insane_ due to this search and rescue party all for your best friend. God, Hildegard, do you see what I go through just for you? Do you?"

Maria huffed and was about to return to the inn when she heard a peculiar sound. It sounded like someone was crying. '_Hmm? That's strange...'_ She followed her ears to find the source of sniffling, and furrowed her eyebrows when she stopped in front of a cart full of hay. '_Is someone in there?'_

"Excuse me?" She carefully walked closer to the hay and started searching through the straw. There was no reply, only more sniffles. She frowned and continued digging through the dried grass until she came across the source. Maria sighed when she realized it was just a person dozing off, but froze when she realized who it was.

"D-Damiel?" She immediately shook him awake. He was not asleep however. He was curled up and... crying... "Damiel, what happened? Are you alright? Who did this to you?"

He remained silent as he stared at her with his red eyes. He gave her an extremely weak smile before his head collapsed into the straw as he fell into a dreamless slumber, his grin turning into a pained expression. Just seeing him so weak, so out of character, had the woman hoisting him on her back in no time and hauling him back to the inn slowly so she wouldn't wake him from his sleep.

All the while, she couldn't conjure up the answer as to why _she_ was crying from seeing him so.

* * *

No lie, writing about Damiel's parts towards the end made me cry. I am such a baby, please let me know if anyone else is feeling emotional while reading it?


	11. Chapter 9, Part 1

Heeheehee, I'm on a roooolllllll. Yeah, not really. Expect another update in three days. Why? Because I'm lazy D:

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.

Cheers to Christina and Meadjean.

**REVIEW.**

* * *

Hildegard slowly opened her eyes and gave a soft smile when she turned her head to the side. Her horse was staring at her with its big brown, warm eyes. He nickered softly and she stretched her arms out. She went to bed with an empty stomach that night, and she felt a huge hole in herself because of it. She knew that she needed food, and soon. She wasn't like the beast that she used as her pillow that could eat grass and not be hungry.

The woman slowly and carefully flexed the muscles in her legs. Her thighs were still sore, but she would have to live with it. She hoped that she'd reach Masyaf in another two or three days- depending on how much trouble she ran into on the way there. She slowly stood, leaning against the horse as he stood as well. Hildegard winced as her muscles yet again protested, and then cringed when her stomach growled hungrily.

'_Not now, you have to wait until I can afford food...'_ Yet, she smiled as she felt the small pouch of money that she picked from the body of the illegal agent in Jerusalem. She quickly untied the leather cord around it and spilled its contents out into her hand. She groaned.

There were only a few coins, probably enough for a couple of meals. She quickly stored the money back into the bag and looked back over at the horse. She gave it a sly grin before resting an arm on its back. "Say, honey," she began as she kneaded its mane between her fingers. The beast turned its head to look at her with its big eyes. "I'm going to have to give you a name, you know. Hmmm.." She clicked her tongue against her teeth and tapped her forefinger against her lips as the thought.

"How about.." she untied the rope around his neck and led him by his reins for a small walk. " 'Shihad'? It means 'honey' in Arabic, and you're definitely an Arabian." She cooed at him when he began nipping at her tunic. Despite the fact that she was hungry, practically poor, and covered in dirt from sleeping on the ground, the animal made her life seem a whole lot better. And she was very thankful for him.

She cleared the small thicket that she had slept in and stared down at Jerusalem from the hill. She shriveled her face up from the sight of it. Hildegard doubted that anyone would even allow her to purchase anything in the city, and the guard was no doubt looking for the killer who killed the 'innocent' man in the dark alley of death. '_Honest to the Lord Himself, why must everything be so complicated? By God, Maria! I hope you at least found a way to escape the wedding, seeing as how I'm going through Hell and back just to save your ass.'_ She ground her teeth together and set her jaw as new determination flooded over her. No, she would not waste anymore time in Jerusalem. It was early in the morning, and she had plenty of ground to cover. So, she climbed up onto Shihad's back and spurred him forward with her heels.

* * *

The Templar helped himself to a goblet of wine and sat down at the small table in front of the cell his prisoner was being held in. He propped his legs up onto the wood and took a sip of wine, his eyes remaining on the beaten man before him. They had him whipped the previous night in an attempt to break his spirit and to gain information about his blasted sister and possibly the Piece of Eden, but there was no such luck. The man before him was trained to receive beating after beating without having information spill from his mouth. Such a pity.

"So, my little eagle," Earl began as he set his goblet down. "Tell me, how does it feel knowing that everything you value will be lost to you- and right before your very eyes?"

The victim's eyes fluttered open to glare the devil and his servants at the Templar resting his bloody weight, sipping wine and acting as if he hadn't a care in the world. The man did not reply, he remained content glowering at Earl.

The Templar chuckled darkly and raised an eyebrow at the other man. "You know, it isn't exactly comforting when you glare at someone like that. Perhaps discipline is in order..?" He stood up from his stool and slowly walked over to the cell bars. "It troubles me deeply to have to continue looking at such a face."

His prisoner did not falter, though. In fact, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows practically became one as his sour look deepened and became even more deadly. Earl sighed and gave a brief twitch with his index and middle finger as he held his hand up. Two guards immediately entered the chamber and saluted their master.

"Two ribs, seven slashes."

The prisoner gritted his teeth together and braced himself for the assured onslaught of pain. If he had to, he'd face endless beatings and broken bones. He'd do it for his family- for his sister.

* * *

"So, you said you found him in a cartload of hay- _crying_?" Benjamin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and with an eyebrow raised in concern. After Maria had carried Damiel back to the inn, she had immediately told Benjamin about her discovery. They gingerly placed the boy on the bed, tugged his boots off, and were now watching him sleep peacefully. Maria had pulled a chair over by the bed and was sitting down in it as she gently stroked the boy's hair out of his face.

She nodded, confirming her story. "I don't know what came over him, Benjamin. I've never seen Damiel act this way- not even after he killed for the first time in his life." She looked up to her friend with eyes full of worry. "You don't think it's because of Aden, do you?"

The veteran waved his hand and scowled at such a suggestion. "Pah, no, Sarah, dear. Damiel would never shed tears from that man. This is something much more serious, I'm afraid." He placed a hand on Maria's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But we must not pester him about it."

Maria gave a small smile in understanding. "I'm afraid we'd lose him for good if we pressured him to tell us." She sighed and stood up, wrapping her arms around Benjamin. "Benny, what's happening to us?"

He began rubbing her back up and down with one hand while the other pat the base of the back of her neck. "I don't know, Maria, I don't know..."

"It never used to be like this- were we always this sensitive? This _weak_?"

He shook his head and took a step back from her, gripping both of her shoulders gently. "Maria, my dear, before when you and Damiel were in the Crusades, you were too blinded by what you were _told _was right. Now, both of your eyes have been opened up to the truth, and you are following what _you_ believe is right." Benjamin gave her a soft smile and continued, "It is nothing to be afraid of. I used to be the same way- I told you how your Uncle Xavier and I never saw eye to eye, how we were exact opposites, no?" His eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look as he began recalling his best friend. "I should have killed him on the spot. It was what was expected from a Knight Templar, but yet I could not. He opened my eyes to the truth, to how deceiving and controlling the Templars were. Maria, it is the same case with you and Damiel, my dear. You are simply going through a phase in life that requires you to have more than one perspective."

"Similar to puberty?"

They both looked at the bed in shock as Damiel lazily opened one eye to look at them. Benjamin coughed and cleared his throat. "Yes, my boy, similar to puberty, but very different at the same time."

Damiel grunted and closed his eye. "I'm sorry for worrying you," he mumbled. Maria scoffed and shook her head at him. "I don't know what came over me... I guess I just needed... to.. vent.." his voice trailed off as he slowly fell back into sleep. His two friends exchanged confused glances, yet they left it at that as they both climbed in either side of the bed with Damiel in between them.

The boy groaned and gave them both an annoyed stare. "Do you mind?"

"Certainly not," Maria said as she shoved his shoulder. Benjamin chuckled and ruffled Damiel's hair.

"Come now, Damiel boy, we are merely trying to cheer you up." He laughed when the boy snarled as Maria took his hand in her own. Damiel squirmed uncomfortably and yelped when Maria socked him a punch to the stomach.

"That... hurt..." he rubbed his abused stomach with his free hand and frowned at her.

"You're lucky I didn't hit any lower, Damiel," she said as her eyes closed and her breathing became steady. "Because... I... would... have..."

He sighed despite himself and shut his eyelids as well. Although he was annoyed at his friends for being so straightforward and slightly over protective, he had to admit that he felt safe and secure with them nearby.

But most importantly, he felt loved.

* * *

_"Bara...? BARA!" The young woman fell to her knees as she cradled the man's head in her lap. She refused to believe what her eyes had just witnessed. He asked her to go outside and pick some flowers for her, and then... and then..._

_It burst into flames. The hospital... was burning... and Bara was still inside... legs couldn't move..._

_She hung her head low as her tears rolled off of her face to land in heavy drops on his pale cheeks and forehead. She wept like she never had before in her life- it was worse when her uncle, aunt, and two cousins had been killed. So much worse..._

_"Bara... please... please wake up... Bara, don't... don't leave me..." She smacked his cheeks and shook his shoulders. But the man would not wake up, for he had already departed from the world. She threw herself on top of him in her grief, staining his skin and ruined clothes with her tears. She did not know how long she had cried, but she knew that she sobbed until her entire body ached._

_She trailed her hand down his neck and frowned when she felt something cold underneath his partially burnt and tattered tunic. She ripped the cloth and stared at a necklace with two strange yet familiar emblems hanging on the cord. It looked like an arrowhead, yet resembled the letter 'A' at the same time. She tore the necklace off of his still neck and stared at the design. The emblems were made of a rock she was fairly familiar with, obsidian, and were smooth and polished. She had never felt something so pure and meaningful in her entire life, nor had she ever touched an item so finely made as the two symbols in her hands._

_"Bara.. Bara, what- what is this?" But he would not reply. She turned the pendants over and stared, baffled at what she saw. There were initials engraved on either end of the intricate 'A's. There was 'B.I'. She recognized that as Bara's own initials. But then the other one had 'A.I' She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes ridding herself temporarily of her tears. The girl looked back and forth between the necklaces and her dead friend, not knowing what to make of the situation._

_She knew who the other pendant belonged to, but not where to find him._

_"Don't worry, Bara..." She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. The girl gently closed the man's eyelids. He truly only looked like he was taking a short nap, but she knew better. The female placed the flowers she had picked for her friend on his chest. He loved hyacinths, for they reminded him of his wife. She stood from the ground, her britches muddy from kneeling in the mud._

_"I will find your son."_

* * *

Altair stood in his bedroom, devoid of emotion. He was taught, ever since he was brought into the Brotherhood, to hide and refuse one's own personal feelings. And because of that, he never allowed anyone to enter his life. He had made the mistake of loving Adha, and she was painfully torn away from him. He took her death as a sign that an Assassin was not allowed to love. But yet, he found himself loving another woman almost six years after Adha was taken by that bastard Basilisk.

He knew not what to think about the tight grip around his heart, or the fact that his hands were shaking. His body trembled with grief, not knowing what to do. Should he leave the fortress for a few days to search for Hildegard? He had no doubt that he could find her without much difficulty if she was in the Middle East. But leaving Masyaf would weaken him. Is that what the Templars wanted? Did they want him to become concerned with this 'Hildegard' character and leave to investigate? Perhaps, but he did not even know for sure if Hildegard _was _a Templar. He breathed in deeply and chose to do what he had been trained to do.

And so that is what he did.

Or, rather, he tried to remove Maria's image from his mind. _Damn the woman!_ Why couldn't she have just stayed in Acre when he leaped from the tower? Then, he could have just returned to her the following day, take her to Masyaf, explain the situation to his brothers-

'_Oh, yes, Altair, explain the situation to them. Explain how you had fallen in love with a former Templar and that you had coupled with her. Yes, I'm sure that Malik and the others would have welcomed her with open arms.'_ He gave the slightest hint of a frown at his bed. If she hadn't left, he had no doubt that she would have been sleeping, and instead of staring at a lonely bed, he would have been gazing at her peaceful form while she rested.

He sat down at the foot of the bed and kneaded his face with his hands. The woman that he loved and yearned for was still haunting him, even with his eyes closed. He pictured her, clad in her tunic, britches, and boots that almost reached her knees. She wore her hair down, though. He did his best to remember how it looked without it being tied up in a bun. It proved difficult for him to do, since he had only seen it down two or three times. Twice while she lost her hair tie while on their boat-ride back to the Middle East, and the other when they spent their night together at Acre.

He groaned from thinking about it. He never let a woman touch him before her, not even Adha touched him. She was just that beautiful thing that he loved to gaze at and lose himself while looking into her eyes. He loved her, but he had never felt the warmth of her body- not even her lips.

And then there was Maria. Maria, who he had thought to be a troublesome, pesky, foolish, stubborn, out-of-her-place woman. He never knew that she was capable of being very passionate when need be and to show support. Even in Cyprus, his opinion on her did not change drastically. True, she showed him the archive and helped him escape from it while the interior collapsed on them, but what was he to make of that when he knew not the first thing about her? All he knew was that she was a Templar and that he had killed the man that she admired greatly.

And then they traveled east together, if for only a little while before their responsibilities called them back. The way there was quiet, for the most part. They hardly talked to each other. Yet, he saw how isolated and lonely she felt. She would keep her eyes partly open while she stared at nothing in particular, a sad smile on her face. He was sure only Maria Thorpe was capable of smiling in such a heart-wrenching way. He was curious to know what she might have been thinking of at the time, and he was still curious. Whenever he approached her to see if she was fairing well, she'd immediately change her expression. Instead of it being sorrowful, it would turn into a hard and stern stare, as if she was trying to hide herself from him by pulling up deceitful walls. Or, maybe she was trying to hide from herself? What if she was afraid of the truth now that she had learned it?

And yet there was always the possibility that she was trying to put a brave face on for the sake of herself. Was she trying to prove to the world that she was not a helpless woman- that she did not need a man to be successful? Well, if that was the case, she had certainly showed Altair that while on Cyprus- no, even when he encountered her in Jerusalem, he knew that she was not the type of snake to be charmed. But, she did open up to him after a while. He had noticed her glancing at him once in a while. At first, he thought that she was scheming a way to throw him overboard, but diminished the idea quickly. She had her chance to kill him while on Cyprus while the archive collapsed, and yet she didn't. While they were on the docks after they had escaped, she could have impaled him, but yet she didn't. Even when they boarded the ship, she could have pushed him in the water and left him there to die, but yet she didn't.

And then he thought that maybe she was looking for an answer that she figured he had. Maybe she was trying to figure something out- something very important and significant to her- all on her own, and he happened to be there in her line of sight whenever she would glance about. It seemed unlikely, but he was partially correct. She _was_ looking for an answer to something, but he wasn't conveniently there. She deliberately sought him out on the ship just to steal glances at him, and when he would tilt his head in question, she'd bark at him to stop mocking her and threaten him to feed him to the fish. It caused a smile to creep onto his face. He loved hearing her empty threats, as if she was a caged animal and he was prodding her through the bars.

But yet she was caged. She was held prisoner by her own emotions; unable to sort her mind out. She knew not the warm feeling that enveloped her heart whenever she thought about or saw the Assassin was love. She had no clue.

And he didn't know that when his flesh trembled whenever he saw her and how his heart would skip a beat when he caught her glancing at him was love. He knew not the first thing about love.

But he was still able to give her what she wanted on that cold, lustful Acre night... and she was able to give him what _he_ wanted as well. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe they were just lonely and needed to satisfy their needs? It was all awkward, so rushed. He had kissed Maria once before that, but it was a lingering kiss to the forehead when they had docked at Acre. He was saying goodbye to her since he would have to return to Masyaf. He wanted to take her with him, but she insisted that she had family matters to attend to. He offered to stay with her until she was done with whatever it was she had to do, but she dismissed him. And so he did what he thought he should have done, since she was obviously avoiding his subtle and innocent advances. He wanted- no, _needed_- her to know his feelings, even though he was still sorting them out. He was sure that he'd have enough time to make his mind up about her on his ride to Masyaf.

She just stood there, eyes wide once his lips left her forehead. His hazel eyes watched her grey ones intently, waiting for some sort of other response. She wasn't rejecting him nor accepting him. It was just a kiss to her, a simple gesture. He remembered feeling so confused as to why she didn't show any other emotion. He'd much prefer her to punch him in the face or to kick him where he never wanted to be kicked instead of that stare. He came to the conclusion that she just didn't want to ruin the very weak and thin friendship they had webbed together over their travels.

But then he sent her a letter from Masyaf, asking if she was finished with her family business. He expected her to roll her eyes and discard the parchment in a fireplace or stove, but to his amazement, she actually replied.

He smirked when he remembered what her letter said.

'_Yes, my ever impatient eagle, my family has left Acre and I'm through with the matters at hand. It was quite stressful, not that YOU helped any. You just had to kiss me, didn't you? I appreciate how you always find a way for my brain to be a jumbled mess. It is like searching for a needle in a haystack, now, thank you. I cannot even think straight let alone make the smallest decisions on my own, you bastard. _

_I'm currently trying to figure what the Hell I should do while in this city. Normally, I'd have an answer. But I do not have an answer because it'd be too easy to have a decision THANKS TO YOU. So, I lay awake at night, tossing and turning in my bed, wondering what I should do. It's cold, but not as cold as England can become. However, I was recently reunited with one of my colleagues from the Crusades. No, don't go strapping on your leather gauntlets and sharpening that sword of yours, you damn Assassin. My colleague is literally a dog. He's one of the hounds that I trained while under Robert's command. His name is Bayo, and he's been sleeping with me to try to keep me warm during the night._

_But it isn't enough... it isn't enough to satisfy this... whatever you want to call it inside of me. I know not what to think of this. Why, even writing this letter is causing my hand to shake and heart to tremble. Does your heart beat faster when you think of me? Because mine does when I think of you. Maybe it's the fact that if I were to piss you off, you'd have that hidden blade in my throat in a mere second. Now I'm just rambling, for I am very nervous. Half of me wants to tear this letter up right this instant and not even reply to your letter. Would you come for me? Would you come for me if I didn't reply for months?_

_I'd like to think you would, although I'd probably lead you on a giant chase throughout the world. I'm not one to find interest in one place for too long. I grow bored of towns and cities quickly- always need to venture to foreign grounds. Do you feel the same way? Does it feel good to explore the world and then have a home to return to? I bet it feels amazing collapsing in your bed after a long journey. So, please..._

_Please let me find something new and interesting at Acre. I always walk past that fortress that used to belong to William of Montferrat (before you killed him, of course), looking up at the walls. I don't know what I'm looking for, if anything at all. I guess you can say it's staring at something, waiting for anything to happen. But, for me, it's as if I'm staring at the walls, hoping that they'd give me an answer._

_I think I do have an answer, though._

_And I owe you a 'thank you' for that kiss. Care to collect it?_

_P.S._

_I cannot believe I just wrote those last two sentences. I am thinking of smashing my head into a brick wall, but I can't help but wonder._

_DO you want to collect?_

_-Maria_

And so he traveled to Acre as fast as he could. He knew his feelings for her. Whether she knew it or not, that letter had helped him sort his own mind out. The damn woman didn't even know that _she _caused _his_ brain to become a jumbled mess! But he couldn't tell her that, no. No, he would show it to her once he rendezvoused with her.

And sure enough, there she was, standing right outside the fortress she mentioned in her letter. Her cloak was wrapped tightly around her, her arms crossed over her chest as she smushed her hands between her arms and sides, holding the cloak tighter to herself. Due to the layers of his own garments, he couldn't feel the icy fingers of the night since she wore simple layers.

And then she ran. He didn't know if she had seen him- how could she have?- or if she was giving up for the night. But he chased after her anyways. There was... a... peculiar pulse throughout his entire body. He couldn't place it. It began at his stomach, traveled lower to his genitals, and then slowly spread in every direction. He knew for certain that _he_ wanted to be the one to keep her warm during the night, and not her dog.

She climbed up a ladder and he silently did the same. He could see her breath against the air; white puffs issuing from her mouth. She was soon climbing up another ladder as she made small leaps from rooftop to rooftop. He frowned, not knowing what the woman had in mind. Maybe he misread her letter, perhaps he let his emotions get to him..?

But he wanted to know what this fox- _his_ fox- had planned for him. And so he tailed after her, only to have a door slammed shut in his face.

The fire inside of him grew hotter and hotter, demanding her company. He growled in annoyance and eyed the tower that she was inside of. She was probably at the top, looking down at him and mocking him. And sure enough, he saw her head poke from over the top's edge and witnessed her sneer.

But no matter, soon he would have her weeping in his arms from the pleasure he oh so wanted to give her. He started to climb the wall, pushing his muscles forward and pacing himself as he climbed higher and higher. He grabbed hold onto loose bricks, pulled himself up, leaped onto a lamp post, carried himself higher and higher, until-

He stood at the top, staring at her back. She slowly turned around and pulled her hood back, but even if she still wore it, he'd know her fit figure anywhere. She looked him directly in the eyes, despite the fact that his hood hid most of his face from her, and smirked at him.

He frowned slightly, but found himself mirroring her smirk as a shy smile took its place on her lips. He could see that she was scared, but he was as well. Yet, _one_ of them had to be strong during this... this... _thing._

Slowly, she motioned him forward with a trembling finger. She was not just ordering him to bring himself upon her, though. She was commanding him to forget everything he had learned throughout his life.

_Trust no one. Turn away from personal feelings. Think before you act_.

He couldn't. He just _couldn't_ deny himself. She was standing a mere ten feet away from him, asking him to love her. _And oh, how he wanted to love her_.

The Assassin took trembling steps towards her, his stride slightly faltering. She lowered her hands down gradually, and then he was right in front of her, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other snaked behind her neck, guiding her lips to his.

It was all so awkward. Their lips did not move as one for what seemed an eternity. She had never kissed a man, and he had never kissed a woman. Their mouths collided, each of them wanting to fulfill their own desires, too stubborn to synchronize with the other's rhythm. His arm around her waist brought her hips to his in a rough collision, and she soon scowled and pulled away from him completely, frowning at him.

"_You bloody Assassin! I was hoping at least one of us would have experience in this field!" She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to keep her expression stoic and breathing calm. But, he couldn't help but notice a faint blush across her cheeks._

_He smirked at her. "Pardon me for not having studied in this category of life, Maria."_

_She rolled her eyes, but brought her arms down to her sides. He took that as permission to try once more, and quickly made his way back over to her, but was stopped when she placed both of her hands on his chest._

_"Did you not learn anything from our first attempt?" she snapped at him. He was about to retort right back at her when she held one finger to his lips. "Slowly," she said._

_He stood still as she leaned her head back to reach his lips. Her mouth barely touched his, and he breathed out impatiently. He didn't enjoy this torture, but his annoyance soon died out as her mouth pressed more firmly against his own. It wasn't eager and hungry like their other attempt. Just firm and slow, the way she wanted it._

_Altair had no complaints, though. They both had no idea how to love, and this steady and safe pace she had demanded was teaching him new techniques that he thought he'd never need to know. He gently brought his arm around her waist once more and brought her closer to himself with more care than attempt number one. She brought a trembling hand up to his face and cupped his cheek, turning her head to the side as he leaned into her touch. _

_The English woman rolled her eyes from beneath her eyelids, hoping that he'd take the next step. But, no, the Assassin was too busy training over and over again with how her lips felt against his. She felt him smirk from her irritation and it only caused her to frown and open her eyes to glare at him. He looked absolutely amused from her expression. Maria tried to pull away from him to curse him to the fiery pits of Hell and back, but he kept a firm hold on her and pulled her hips towards his own as he pressed into her. She gasped, and that's all he needed._

_He trailed his tongue across the outline of her mouth, asking permission to enter. How could she say no? She slowly parted her lips slightly, barely opening them. He chuckled but took the opportunity at hand and parted them further with his tongue while he slipped inside of the cavern. It was... different, he had to admit. He enjoyed the feeling, no doubt about that, but he knew not what to think of it. He felt her own tongue move against his own, and just as their kiss, they both started slowly. He knew that if he was to rush this, she'd bite down on him and most likely tear the muscle out from his mouth._

_So he drew small circles around the tip of her tongue with his own, until he began licking it fervently. He felt her melting into him as he quickened his strokes. He barely noticed that he was undressing her and that she was doing the same._

_He groaned when he felt her lips close around the muscle as she began suckling on his tongue. Altair found himself moaning softly when her rhythm hardened and her need for his own saliva became stronger and stronger. She was the one in control, his superior, the alpha, his goddess.._

_But soon they were completely bare with him lying on top of her, slowly becoming one until he took the reins and began riding her, marking her as his and only his._

He stood up from the bed and angrily stormed out of his room as he made his way to the baths. The hot water was the only thing that could keep him from 'accidentally' performing a failed leap of faith. He filled the tub, threw his robes off of him in one angry tug, and plunged himself into the depths of the tub.

The water burned at his face, but he didn't care. He wanted Maria- _his_ Maria- right _now_. He had never felt so deprived in his life. Even when he was demoted, it never felt like this. Maria held a piece of his life... kept it in her greedy yet loving clutches, as he did the same for her.

He would not give up on Hildegard. To do so would mean that he would be giving up on Maria. She was out there, somewhere, and she missed him.

He knew it.

* * *

Maria's eyelids fluttered open as the morning greeted her by blaring its rays into her face. She groaned sleepily and shifted her position to a more comfortable one. She was laying on her side, the blankets clinging loosely to her while she slept. She didn't want it to be morning yet...

She closed her eyes and basked in the sunlight. It felt refreshing to be warmed up by the light playing through the room's window, yet horrible all at the same time. They would be riding out of Jaffa soon, and that meant they'd be one step closer to Acre. And that meant she'd have to confront herself sooner or later- preferably later.

She snuggled further in the covers, but frowned when she felt something wrap around her waist. '_Al.. Altair..?'_ She shook her head and turned her head around to get a good look at the person holding her.

Had it not been for his incident the previous night, she would have punched him square in the forehead for clinging to her in such a manner. Damiel had his eyelids pressed closed, cool air escaping his parted lips as he breathed in and out during his slumber. He looked so fragile, so innocent, almost like a child. Maria smiled from the sight and shrugged out of his grip and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. Benjamin was not in the room anymore, so he must have been already planning their journey out.

'_Most likely burying his nose in another map,' _Maria thought as she pulled her boots on. She looked in the mirror and stifled back laughter. Her hair was absolutely a mess; the curls sticking out in the strangest of all places- some even defying gravity. She sighed and began combing her fingers through the mess.

She turned her head to the side as she heard the boy yawn and stretch his arms and legs out in the bed. He groggily rubbed his eyes open and looked at her. She smirked at him. His hair wasn't in any better condition than hers was.

"Good morning, Ria," he said as he tossed the covers aside and placed his feet on the warm floor. She gave him a grunt a nod as his 'good morning' and he stood up to join her at the mirror. "Wow," he said as he shook his curls out of his eyes. _"Mi pelo es una selva_..."

She raised her eyebrow in question, but rolled her eyes as he began giggling like a madman. She left the room and descended the stairwell, only to groan in annoyance. Everyone else was already in the lobby, their weapons at their sides, dressed, and ready to depart. Olivia and Zaina both smiled at her, while Aden gave her a smirk. She sneered right back at the man. Benjamin, just as she thought, was going over one of his maps.

"Ahh!" He strode over to Aden and the two of them began looking at the paper. "If we take this road right here," Benjamin trailed his index finger along a line on the map. "Then we should be able to reach a small settlement, and from there continue on. Oh, good morning, Maria, my dear." He smiled at her and she gave him a brief wave with her hand. "We were just about to wake you and Damiel."

"How long was I out?"

"Well, the rest of us woke up two hours ago," Aden scoffed as he crossed his arms to give her a satisfied smirk. "I would have loved to have dumped water on Damiel to wake him up, but since you two were sharing a bed..."

"Don't even try it, Aden," Maria sighed and took a seat at one of the tables. "He needed company last night." It sounded horribly wrong and inappropriate, even to her ears, but she couldn't tell Aden of all people that she had found Damiel out of his spirits in a pile of hay.

"Of course, of course," He raised both of his hands up in defense and shook his head. "I never even considered something out of character from the both of you, believe me."

She rolled her eyes and ignored the man. If he was in a foul mood, she would have no part in being his personal ragdoll. Benjamin looked back and forth between them and grumbled something about 'a long ride' under his breath. Olivia and Zaina were saying their goodbye's to the hostess. Apparently they had befriended the woman during the two hours that Maria was absent from the world. Belle was laying down elegantly by the door of the inn, her head resting in her paws as she observed her masters.

Damiel came trudging down the stairs then, Riva in one hand while Altair's journal in the other. He had tamed his jungle called his hair and had a gentle smile pressed on his lips. He strolled casually over to Benjamin and gave his friend a brief pat on the shoulder. Benjamin returned the gesture and gave a slightly worried grin at him.

"Everything alright, Damiel boy?"

The boy nodded and looked over at Maria. He mouthed the words 'thank you'.

She gave him an understanding smile and pulled herself up from her seat. "Well, shall we?" The others nodded and they left the inn, Benjamin at the front of their small cluster, leading the way to the stables. Maria sighed, taking one last look at Jaffa's interior. She would miss this place, even if she had only spent one night there.

Damiel though, would not miss it. He walked ahead of everyone else once he spotted the stables. He quickly handed the owner a handful of money as he began tacking up one of the horses to ride on. Maria jogged over to him and frowned at his selection. "Not that I don't have faith in your judgment, Damiel," she said as she began feeling the animal's legs with both of her hands. "But... this isn't exactly-"

"..." He held his hand up to silence her and removed the saddle from the animal's back. "Can you tell me which one's a good choice then?" She smiled, but did as he asked. Finally finding one for him, he saddled the beige beast up and pulled himself on its back.

Soon, the others were saddled and ready to leave. Damiel noticed with a grim smile that Zaina had chosen the horse he had previously selected. '_Silly girl.._'

Aden chose a black as midnight horse, Maria a pure white steed, Benjamin a grey stallion, and Olivia a chestnut mare. They all urged their horses forward into a trot simultaneously with Benjamin still in the lead.

"Take one last look, everyone," the veteran said as they rode gently through the gates. "For we shall not return here for a very, very long time." And so they did. They all looked back at Jaffa. Damiel kept his eyes to the ground, however. He did not want to remember this place.

They each eventually turned their heads back to the road ahead of them. "Shall we?" Benjamin smirked as he mimicked Maria. The woman returned the expression, and they all roughly dug their heels into their horses' sides, sending dust and dirt in their wake and leaving the beautiful yet haunting town behind.

* * *

"Come on, Shihad," Hildegard muttered into the animal's ear. "We can outrun them, honey." They were galloping full speed through the Kingdom. She had been recognized by a group of guards that had pulled them over a few hours from Jerusalem. They were chasing her on horseback, but Shihad remained calm and obedient while the rest of the world around him was in a slight panic. Hildegard marveled on how the horse could keep his wits about him when normal beasts would have bolted and ran in fright. '_Thank God for this horse.'_

They were nearing a town, she knew that. There were more and more people on the dusty path after each passing second. But if she could not lose the guards tailing behind her, then she would have no choice but to run straight through the town without purchasing food. Her stomach was still grumbling and complaining from being so empty for such a long time.

She ran her hands over the horse's neck in encouragement, and he obeyed. He put on a new wave of energy as he ran faster and faster, gradually losing the guards. She smirked when she took a quick look over her shoulder. True, their horses were fast, but they did not have the stamina and determination Shihad had. Hildegard laughed when she saw them slow their beasts down to a stop, giving up on the chase. She sighed and clicked her tongue several times. Shihad's ears flattened against his head, but he listened and slowed down to a lovely yet bouncy trot. She laughed at how the horse seemed to hold his head high in the air as if he knew what he had just done. '_Maybe he did.'_

He pranced throughout the Kingdom with his tail swishing behind him. The people on foot gave the woman curious glances and muttered to each other, saying that a 'lady should not be acting such a way'. She rolled her eyes and continued guiding her horse throughout the land. If they wanted to gossip, let them. She was a woman on a mission- albeit a risky and partially stupid mission.

And just as she had expected, a town began peeking out from the earth as she rode Shihad downhill. She smiled, and kicked her feet at the horse and he replied by bolting down towards the gates. She once again, though, led him away from the stables and to a secluded section on the outskirts and tethered him to a tree.

Hildegard unbuckled her satchel from the saddle and swung the strap over her shoulder. There was no way that she was going to leave her purse with the horse. She had no doubt that Shihad would put up a pretty good fight if someone tried to steal him, but she couldn't trust the horse with her belongings. In fact, she couldn't trust _any_ horse with her personal items. She gave him a kiss on his forehead and walked toward the gates. It was slightly windy, the breeze picking her hair up and tossing it in front of her face. She smiled despite the fact that her hair was wild and probably a mess from riding.

She entered the town with ease, seeing as how the guards were busy chatting amongst each other, and that a swarm of people had just entered the gates. She sighed and sniffed the air. Her stomach groaned once more, earning the attention from everyone around her. She shrugged sheepishly and jogged away from them, letting her nose lead her to the food.

And oh, did she buy food!

She sat at a bench, happily munching away at shish kebab while thirstily drinking from a water-skin. It seemed like it had been far too long since she had enjoyed warm food, even if it had only been roughly a week.

'_I wonder where Maria is,' _the blonde beauty wondered as she finished the last of her food. '_I hope she's fairing well... I'd hate to know what would have happened to her should Clarence get his hands on her. Ugh, Clarence, you are such a nuisance.'_ She shook her head and drained the last of the water bag. She got up from the bench and strolled the streets. She had a few coins left, but she had no intention of spending it on a bed. No, she would sleep outside with Shihad like she had the previous night, so that when she came across another town, she could enjoy food. When it came to comfort and hunger, hunger won that small comparison.

However, it was mid-afternoon, and she had daylight to burn. She kept a firm hand on her satchel's strap while she walked on. It wasn't much of a town- there were hardly any streets or paths. It was just houses bunched together in a small settlement that was barely functional. She found herself being reminded of the man that she wished to see very dearly just by looking at the houses that were practically falling apart.

'_Aden has a cleft in his chin like that door..'_ She groaned when she realized what she was doing. '_No, Hildegard. Stop it. Aden is Aden. The door is the door. There is NOTHING in common with them. Nothing at all.'_ She rolled her eyes and was about to check up on Shihad when something caught her eye.

"Let go of me! I'm innocent, you thugs!"

"Hey, lookie here! This girl's got a tongue she isn't afraid to use!"

Hildegard frowned and hastily walked toward the crime scene. There was a small girl being bullied by two men tugging at her clothes and her belongings. Hildegard huffed in shock and annoyance at what she was witnessing. Without hesitation, she flung her satchel to the ground, snatched the knife out from her breast bindings and stormed over to the men.

"_Leave. Her. Alone."_

They turned with disgusting snarls as they looked at the person who _dared_ interfere with their fun. Their eyes widened when they saw a woman holding a blade that gleamed in the sunlight. Their eyes roamed over her body, staring for a great deal of seconds at her breasts, and then up to her face. "Looks 'ike there's one fer each of us!" He threw the poor girl at his friend while he strolled over to Hildegard. "Put that down, miss, before someone gets hurt, and come into father's arms." He held his arms out for the woman with a sickening smile on his face. Hildegard remained where she was, narrowing her eyes at the man.

"Why don't you make the first advancement."

The man laughed, but threw himself on Hildegard, hoping to pin her to the ground. However, she twisted her body out of the way and he hit the ground with a thud. She quickly took the opportunity and leapt onto the man's back, digging her blade into his neck as she did so. He gurgled as his own blood choked him, and she quietly made her way to the other thug.

"_Unless you want to share the same fate as him,"_ she spat at the ground as she addressed the dead man, "_you'd best leave that girl alone and never show your face here."_

He looked absolutely terrified, but threw the girl away from himself as he stumbled and scurried away from the madwoman with the knife. Hildegard smiled and quickly put the knife back where it belonged, safe inside her tunic. She padded over to the trembling young woman and knelt down beside her.

"There, there," she said as she pulled her in a delicate embrace. "Everything's alright now, there's nothing to-"

"Why did you help me?" the woman said accusingly. What had Hildegard done wrong? The girl was screaming for help, and now she was disciplining the English woman for offering her assistance?

"You looked like you needed help-"

"I'm not a child!" She stood up and kicked dirt in Hildegard's face. She recoiled and shielded her eyes, shaking her head in anger. "And I don't expect you to protect me!"

She ran away from Hildegard, slung the woman's satchel on her shoulder, and sprinted away.

Hildegard, having recovered from the sudden display of anger and resentment from the victim, stood with her mouth hanging wide open. _'Dammit! Why the Hell is it when I try to help someone, I end up having my belongings stolen from me?'_ She ground her teeth together and gulped back the urge to chase after the girl and to slit her throat. No, she was above that. She would handle this with dignity and pride.

So, Hildegard, with all the dignity of a wet washcloth, stormed back over to where she had left Shihad, curled up in a ball at the horse's side, and clamped her eyes shut, hoping to have sleep claim her soon.

* * *

"So, Benny!" Damiel called out to his friend as their horses galloped throughout the dry earth of the Middle East. "What's our plan?"

"Ride, then camp, ride, then camp!" he called back to the boy. "During the day, we ride!"

"And during night, we sleep like overstuffed pig!" Olivia said as she urged her mare to go faster. "And if any of you have complaint, you say to me and I-"

"We understand, Olivia, no complaints!" Maria laughed and threw her head back to get the hair out of her eyes. She had forgotten to put it up in its restricting bun, and it was being spewed all over the place thanks to her forgetfulness. But she had no regrets. It made her feel wild and free, as if there was nothing that could possibly touch her or harm her. Of course, that was short lived when Damiel guided his horse to ride side by side Maria's and gave her a swift punch in the arm. She smirked at him and threw her fist out so it connected with his cheek. He grunted, but laughed.

Aden rolled his eyes from the boy's behavior. "Damiel, we're trying to get there in one piece-"

"Shut your shit, Aden!" He stuck his tongue out at the man and gave a wink at Maria. "We're just having some fun!"

"You may have all the fun in the world once we reach a-"

"_Necesitas dormir con una mujer, Aden! Y necesitas comer una vagina!"_ He gave him an impish smirk and threw his head back arrogantly. "_Bastardo!_"

Aden knew not what to say to him. He didn't understand the language the boy spoke, so he merely sat in the saddle with his mouth hanging open. Maria laughed, even though she too didn't know what Damiel had just said. So, the Arab kept his mouth shut for the rest of their ride. Even Benjamin had confessed that he found it a lot more peaceful when Aden was not speaking.

* * *

Finally reaching a small village, they pulled their horses into a stop. Benjamin swung himself out of the saddle and motioned for everyone else to do the same. They nodded and followed suit. The veteran took the reins and began leading his horse to the stables. The others mimicked him obediently.

It wasn't as charming as Jaffa was, that was for certain, but yet it had its own personality and beauty. For one thing, the citizens didn't walk with a happy-go-lucky gleam in their eyes. They had a strict, straight to the point, purposeful glare. It was unsettling, but everyone kept their gaze on other things than the people. All except Damiel.

"Maria," he whispered in her ear once they had the horses stabled in for the night. "Why's everyone here so... you know?"

She shrugged and gave him a short lived smile. "People are people, Damiel. They don't need a reason for everything."

"Hmm." He puckered his lips out, but shrugged as well. He held his arm out and placed his hand on Maria's shoulder. She smirked and did the same to him. Their arms were slightly twisted together, but they walked on like this. Aden, Olivia, and Zaina looked at each other and then at them in confusion.

"Aden, what are they doing?" Zaina grabbed hold of her brother's hand as they walked. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Perhaps it is ritual," Olivia wondered aloud. "Or maybe new trend we missed?"

Aden scoffed. "Or something useless the boy came up with."

"Actually," Maria called over her shoulder. "This is what my uncle and Benjamin used to do." She glared at Aden, sending the icy fingers of death up his spine. "Thank you for showing respect for the dead."

He frowned but held his head high as he did so. He would never apologize to Maria for something he did not know. Pah, damn the woman for expecting that from him!

* * *

Altair sat on his bed, the belt that he had bought for Maria in his hands as he stared up at his canopy. The curtains were closed around his bed since it was night time. The rest of the fortress was already asleep, save for the guards positioned at their stations. Malik had caught him brooding once more and had sent him to his room like a child. He was not a child. He was a man that had everything he loved taken from him.

He closed his eyes and held the belt tighter to himself. Bayo was not with him that night. He sent the dog to go accompany Malik. They had not trained that day, but the Assassin couldn't care less. He was upset beyond measure but couldn't show it to anyone. He didn't want anyone to talk to about his feelings, for no one would listen to him. He just wished that he was able to walk with the air of a starved man throughout the fortress. But he was not allowed such a thing.

'_A leader must be strong,'_ he told himself. Al Mualim was probably laughing down at the new Leader, a corrupt look of satisfaction plastered on the traitor's lips.

He rolled over on his side and sighed. He knew that he was capable of forgetting about Maria, but he chose not to. He chose to hold onto that small bit of hope that she would return one day and that they'd be together. But... then what? He couldn't picture agreeing to put down her sword to bear his children, nor could he imagine the woman being a housewife. She'd probably throw herself off of the stronghold if she was to be subjected to that lifestyle. If she _did_ return, would she want a family? Would she still want _him_?

There were so many questions plaguing his mind that he could not ignore. He needed answers, but there was no one to give him what he desired. He wished to hold her once more, to feel her heart beat and steady breathing.

But, even if she was to return and no longer wanted him, he would still be content. He wouldn't be thrilled or satisfied, but it would put his mind at partial ease. Knowing that she was alive and well was all he wanted. If she wanted a life without him, he would not force it upon her or chase after her. He would simply let her go; let her slip through his fingers once more.

He looked at the belt and gave it a weak smile. He could imagine Maria living the life of a lonely soldier, but he could not picture her with any other man. If she had found someone else, he would be sure to find out every single detail about the fool that dared steal his woman. And, if he proved to be a risk, he'd dispatch of him for his beloved Maria. Yes, that is exactly what he'd do.

'_Damn you, Maria.. Why must you continue to make my life so difficult? It is as if I am trying to find answers that do not exist. No one has seen you for one year, I haven't read one of your letters... Do you even exist anymore? If you do, then do you yearn for me as much as I yearn for you?' _He shook his head and threw himself out of the bed, tearing open the canopy curtains as he did so. He lit a candle in his room, and as soon as the flame touched the wax, his chambers illuminated. He made his way to the small desk in the corner of his room and dug through some of the drawers. He slammed parchment down onto the table, pulled out a quill and ink, and began writing.

_Maria,_

_You truly are the most difficult target in my life. You continue to torture me in more ways than one. I believe that there is no other man in this world experiencing what I am going through. Betrayal. Hurt. Humiliation._

_How are you?I hope you are fairing better than I am, but it'd be a lie if I said that that's what I really want. It pains me to admit that I am alone. Malik does not wish to speak to me about what I am feeling. I do not trust anyone else in this fortress, even if they are Brothers. I've never felt so deprived in my life. Sometimes I wonder what you'd say if you were to see the state I've been put into. Would you laugh? Would you feel guilty? Would you just walk away?_

_I guess I'll never know, for you are not here. Did I ever tell you my feelings for you? No, I didn't, didn't I? I am sorry. I am sorry that you felt compelled to run away from me. I am sorry for disappointing you and rushing our relationship. I was a fool. I was a fool to ever think that I'd be able to keep you by my side. You've been running away from what society demanded from women your entire life, and there I was, hoping that you and I could start a family. I would have very much liked it if you stayed, though._

_Bayo misses you as well. He whines and cries whenever I say your name. I understand leaving me- partially- but leaving Bayo? You trained him, and you just leave him?_

_I guess you could say that 'you loved him, but you just left him?' in my defense. Yet I am not writing this to insult you. I do not have anyone to speak to about you, and so I will speak to myself through these papers._

_Your face abuses me, night and day, hour after hour. I cannot remove you from my mind. Everything I look at reminds me of you, and I mean EVERYTHING. I try to picture how you'd look now. From what I've heard, you've become very dull. I do not believe it to be true. I know that you are still the fiery and headstrong woman I met in Jerusalem. And I know that you would not hesitate from throwing punches in my direction were you to ever see me again. I would love to feel those punches, though. Just to know that you are alive is good enough for me._

_I wonder if you were captured and taken back to England. But, then I must remind myself that it is MARIA we are talking about, not a helpless goat. My God, if someone captured you and was holding you hostage, I'd chase after you and kill them off one by one all for your safety. Even if it meant throwing my life away in the process. I would gladly die for you._

_I never told you, never could admit it to myself. It wasn't lacking courage, it was merely being afraid. I know, it contradicts the other, but it is the truth. Maria Thorpe, you never told me either, but I didn't need to be told. I knew. I knew from the beginning._

_I knew that you loved me._

_Do you still?_

_Because I love you._

_-Altair_

* * *

Translations_:_

_Mi pelo es una selva_ = My hair is a forest.

___Necesitas dormir con una mujer, Aden! Y necesitas comer una vagina! = _You need to sleep with a woman... And you need to eat a vagina.


	12. Chapter 9, Part 2

**UPDATED.**

And here is part 2 of Chapter 9. Forgive me for not uploading it earlier; my computer just got repaired today, so I had to share a computer with my parents. Wasn't exactly fun, either. /shrug.

As always, review and tell me what you think.

Cheers to Meadjean and Christina (mostly Christina this time, Meadjean will be leaving for Canada shortly).

All original characters are property of Ubisoft. Everyone else is property of the Age of the Era.

* * *

"_Don't. You. Dare."_

"_B-b-but but but... Maria!"_

"_Leave. It. Alone. Damiel."_

"_But.. but.. it's.. it's SLIMY!"_

"_I said: LEAVE IT ALONE."_ Maria stood a few feet from the boy, staring down at him. He was shaking, partly from disgust, and partly from fear of Maria. He was sitting down on the ground right outside the inn. The two of them needed some fresh air, so they decided to talk a small walk around the village, and when they returned, the boy had screamed when something had jumped from the bushes onto his foot.

"M-M-Maria... it's... it's _looking_ at me, though..." He gulped and stared at her pleadingly. "Can I please kill it?"

"_No. You. May not."_ She glared daggers at him and stooped to his level. She reached out for the animal and cupped it in her hands. "There, there," she cooed.

He stared with a quivering lower lip at her and his eyebrow began to twitch. "That is so... _oh, EW!"_

Maria placed a soft kiss on the frog's head. She turned her head to the boy and raised an eyebrow. "Well, pardon me for saying 'sorry' to it. You almost killed the poor thing!"

"Only because it _jumped on me_!"

"That still is not an excuse. He was just minding his own business before _you_ came along and disturbed the peace."

"_WHAT?_ _I_ disturbed the peace? _Me_? Maria! That... that... _thing_ scared the _Hell_ out of me!"

She rolled her eyes and held the frog closer to her. It stared at her with huge, separated eyes. Its throat puffed in, then out as it ribbited. She gave it a smile and looked at Damiel. "Nonsense, you silly boy!"

"What on Earth is going on out here?" Benjamin swung the inn door open and stepped outside to see his two friends sitting in the dirt. "Come, you two! What is the meaning of this ruckus? And why is Damiel squealing like a girl?"

"_A frog attacked me, Benny!_"

"It did _not!_ _You_ were in its way when it hopped!"

_"WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING A FROG? _IT IS A_FROG!__"_

Maria sighed and looked at Benjamin. "I'm just protecting the poor thing from Damiel's idiocy." The veteran laughed and took in the sight before him. Damiel was crawling backwards from Maria and her beloved frog. "Besides," she said as she stood up,"it probably has a family waiting for it somewhere."

"Oh, that's _great_—" Damiel shrieked when she held the frog but an inch from his face. He scurried away and climbed up the inn's wall and onto the roof in record time. "Oh, God... _M-Maria!"_

She smirked at him and ran her tongue over the frog's back. Damiel felt the sudden urge to gag and hurl. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Benjamin stood with an amused glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. Maria gave an impish sneer at Damiel, then turned away from the boy. "Come, Benjamin, let's return our friend to its home, hm?"

The veteran shrugged, gave a quick glance at Damiel, who had his head between his knees as he rocked back and forth in the fetal position. Benjamin breathed out deeply and followed Maria. The woman held the frog delicately in her hand, feeling its quick heartbeat in her palm. She kept a calm. small grin on her face as she walked throughout the town. She was thankful that the sun had already departed and that there were very few villagers out and about. Of course, she saw the occasional couple walking together. She couldn't blame them though; it _was_ a very beautiful night. She peeked at the animal in her cupped hands and walked toward a small pond just outside the village.

Benjamin came to a gentle stop as Maria knelt down by the edge of the water and began whispering to the creature.

"You be a good little frog now," she cooed gently to the frog. "And if you ever come across Damiel again, it'd be wise to avoid him." She placed another kiss on its head and lowered her hands to the ground, allowing the frog to hop along on its merry way. "Farewell, my friend."

Benjamin blinked in silent admiration and amusement from Maria. She was still kneeling down on the ground, watching the frog swim away. After a few minutes, she stood back up and walked past Benjamin, a look of satisfaction etched into her face. He shrugged once more and followed her back to the inn. "Everything alright, Sarah?"

She nodded and slowed her pace down to walk alongside Benjamin. "Everything is fine, don't worry about me." She gave him a reassuring smile, but frowned when she saw Damiel rocking back and forth on top of the inn's rooftop. "Oh, get a grip on yourself, you wet blanket!" She rolled her eyes when the boy whimpered. "I thought I trained you to be a _soldier_, not a shriveled old lady that lost her wits!"

He slowly raised his head and glared at her. "You... you... _licked-_"

"Yes, Damiel, I licked a frog. Now, _shut up_, before I remove your tongue and feed it to Belle." She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging stare. He gulped, but kept his lips sealed as she demanded. She gave a satisfied smirk and made her way back inside of the inn. Unlike Jaffa, this innkeeper wasn't particularly polite. He kept eying the party with squinty little eyes— Damiel in particular. So when Maria entered the inn without Damiel in tow, he gave her a suspicious glare and huddled behind the counter, muttering nonsense to himself. Maria rolled her eyes and proceeded up the stairs to her bedroom. To add to the innkeeper's rudeness, he didn't allow the guests their own rooms, so Maria had to share with Olivia and Zaina. She wasn't thrilled with it, that was for sure, but she was in no mood to argue with the man. After all, you can never win against fools.

Funny how fate seemed to like them.

Maria was about to turn the handle to her room, but decided against it when she heard two people talking. Two familiar, muffled voices sounded from inside the room, and Maria, being devoid of gossip ever since Hildegard's disappearance, decided to make the most of the situation. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, listening to their conversation.

"... I can't, Olivia, I just _can't_..."

"But little duckling, if you don't, then when will you?"

"I don't know..."

"Aden is out with Belle, no? You have chance right before you..."

Maria frowned. '_What are they talking about?'_

"But Damiel, he's... mad.. at me."

Maria smirked, delighted that the conversation was about the boy who was no doubt still blubbering on top of the roof. Benjamin was probably having the time of his life getting him down.

"Pah, nonsense! That fish cannot keep grudge forever, Zaina. No one can. Now, go. Talk to him."

"Oh, Olivia! I _can't_! I don't feel so good..."

"What is big deal, Zai Zai? You go up to Idiot, you say 'I like you', then you walk away. Why so difficult?"

Maria's eyes flew open and she turned the corners of her mouth down as her jaw went slack in disbelief. '_Good Heavens above! Who in their right mind would wish to be courted by such a dimwit?' _She stuck her tongue out in disgust. She had to admit that Damiel _was _indeed attractive and, given a few more years, would be quite the looker for the ladies. But he lacked one thing—one _very _important thing: common sense.

"Olivia, you don't understand. You've never had anyone court you before, so... this is really hard for me..."

"Augh, _nonsense!_ If I had someone liking me, I would never be so… _spineless_ as you are being! Zaina, you must have courage!"

"And if Aden finds out?"

"You tell Aden to gag himself."

"But he's my brother..."

"Are you going to let brother boss you around forever?"

"N-no, but..."

"Then we are through with this conversation."

Maria blinked in surprise, still digesting the news. She shook her head and trudged downstairs, her feet thumping against the wood. What a two-faced, backstabbing wench! She walked past Benjamin. He lifted his head from the maps he was going over and arched an eyebrow. She shook her head at him and walked outside. He tilted his head in question at her, but didn't press the matter.

She looked up at the roof. Damiel was still occupying it, but he had his legs dangling down from the side, swinging them back and forth playfully. "Oh, _oye_, Ria!"

She smiled and gave him a small wave. "Still up there?"

He nodded. "I don't know if you have an army of frogs up your sleeve. I can't be too careful, now can I, no? I'm not coming down anytime soon."

"I figured as much."

He tossed her a boyish smirk and jerked his head to the side. "Betchya can't climb up here."

Maria rolled her eyes. "We both know I was born with 'climbing rooftops' deficiency, Damiel." He laughed from her statement and shrugged innocently.

"How could I forget _that?" _

She smirked and leaned against the wall. "But, you know what?"

"Hmm?"

"I know something you don't know." She looked up at him and bobbed her head side to side. He beamed down at her and swung his legs impatiently. As expected, a naïve, childlike expression exploded on his face as he swung his legs eagerly back and forth.

"Oooh! What, what?"

"I'm not telling you." She pushed off of the wall and began whistling a cheery tune as she walked away from him.

"Awhh, _por qué no?_" He jumped from the roof and jogged up beside her. "Come on, Ria, you have to tell me now!"

"Says who?"

"Me, that's who!_"_

She puckered her lips out in fake thought. "But I don't _want_ to tell you," she whined.

He gawked and stamped his foot. "But you can't just say you know something without telling me!"

"Why not?"

"Because...!" He waved his arms in the air and huffed. "It isn't fair!"

"Who said I was fair?"

He stepped in her way and placed both hands on his hips. _"_Ria, you aren't being nice, and after your deliberate attempt at my life with that frog, I think you owe me a lick of _respecto._"

"Who said I was nice?"

"_Vaya!_" He frowned and pouted like a child. "Why do you always do this to me?"

"Do what?"

"AAAGGHH!" He stomped up and down on the ground. Maria gave an amused smirk as she calmly walked past the tantrum-throwing boy. "Yeah, you just walk away now!"

"I will."

He whimpered and crossed his arms. "I hate you, you know that?"

"I love you too, Damiel."

* * *

Hildegard climbed onto Shihad's back once more to resume their travels. She knew that they were travelling in a general northeast direction, though she lacked a map since her satchel was stolen from her.

'_I swear, the first thing that I'm going to do once I reach Masyaf is smack the Assassin silly. How dare he make me go through all of this trouble! If he only replied to Maria's letters or followed her to England, I wouldn't be in this mess right now! But, NO, it couldn't be that simple because all men are fools! FOOLS! Gah, why must the male species be so stupid?'_

She muttered curses under her breath as she spurred the horse into a gallop. She didn't bother scrounging around the village, asking the villagers for money. She was above that, after all. She was a lady of stature and elegance, not a miserable beggar.

Shihad thundered through the dusty and hot land, clouds of dust spurting from his hooves. Hildegard gritted her teeth and frowned in determination. She only had two more days until she reached Masyaf, and she wasn't looking forward to sleeping with an empty belly during the night. She could handle the hunger during the morning if she distracted her mind enough, but while she was sleeping...

It'd prove to be rather difficult.

So, to distract her from her rumbling stomach, she left this world and ventured into the depths of her mind. '_Where did Shihad come from? Was God watching over me and decided to send me his steed to aid me in my travels?_ _I still don't know what the emblem etched into the saddle is... It's so peculiar, yet so familiar. I think I saw it before in a book. But what does it mean? Is it some sort of faction symbol?'_ She sighed and gave the horse's mane a tug. '_You, my friend, are causing many questions to arise from nothing, you know that?'_

As if he heard her thoughts, he snorted and bobbed his head happily. '_Little devil.'_

* * *

"So, I take it you are in a good mood?" Malik said as he pulled a chair next to Altair and sat down. "I cannot imagine why else that smirk is on your face. Did you and Bayo have a good time training?"

"Indeed." Altair only wore his shalwars and boots as he sat down at his desk, his legs propped up on the table. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I believe if that dog bites me in my region one more time-"

"We'll be needing to stitch walnuts in between your legs, is that it?" Malik waved his arm as he chuckled. "Well, you must give credit to the hound. He is very intelligent for an animal."

"I never did say I _wasn't_ giving him credit."

"_Arf?_" The two men looked down at said hound. He was panting happily next to Altair, wagging his tail back and forth. However, Malik found it very annoying, seeing as how Bayo's tail would whip against his leg.

"..But I am also giving credit to Maria."

Malik scoffed from her name. "Please tell me you've gotten over her, Brother."

"Am I allowed to lie?"

"No."

"Then that is your answer."

The one-armed man sighed and rolled his eyes at his best friend. "Women. Of all the things to finally break you. _Women._"

He glanced at Bayo. "Do you want the dog to do its business on you again?"

Malik glared darkly at the dog and answered, "If he ever does that again, I'll tie that _thing_ in a knot."

Altair chuckled and crossed his leg over the other. His mood quickly darkened as he eyed the Piece of Eden on the table in front of him. "It has shown me another image, Malik."

"When does it not?"

"It is all so confusing," he said as he rubbed his forehead. "There isn't one correct answer, I do not think. It is as if the Apple is trying to teach us perspective and how there is no right or wrong."

"But, why show this to you? We know that men see things differently-"

"Perhaps it is trying to show us that the Templars and Assassins are the same." He sighed and shook his head. "If that was the case-"

"Then we have no right to be hunting them down. But, they seek to control men's minds for peace, and we seek to find peace by having each man and woman hold hands in a mutual, understanding friendship." He scratched his chin with his hand and looked back at his friend. "What if we have it backward, Brother? What if _we_, the Assassins, are actually the wrong-doers?"

"Strange how you think that when you are not the one who's been looking into the Apple. That's the question that keeps coming back to me: what if we're _wrong_?"

"We put faith into our beliefs, though-"

"And what if our beliefs are as fake as Al Mualim? What if we don't really have any faith to support our reasons?"

"What if it is all a lie?"

"Exactly, Malik." He sighed once more and flexed his shoulders. "I do not know if I should lock that relic up for good or keep looking into it. It's shown me very interesting details: so much technology that is unheard of."

"Brother," Malik placed his hand on his shoulder and gave him a serious look,"I think it'd be safe for you to not become addicted to its knowledge. I am not saying never to look into it. Perhaps we should limit it to once a week?"

"Hmm... maybe..."

Bayo looked back and forth between the men. Why were they speaking so serious when only a few minutes beforehand they mood was relatively relaxed? The dog tilted his head to the side and stared at the Piece of Eden.

"Altair, can Bayo sense its power as well?"

Altair nodded and gave a worried glance at Malik. "Meaning that the Templars not only wish to control the minds of men and women-"

"But... _every_ living thing as well? How is that possible?"

"I'm not sure, Malik. Is it even possible to control plants and insects?"

"Maybe... but, for what purpose? What did the trees ever do to the Templars?"

"What did innocents ever do to the Templars?"

Bayo licked his chops and stood on his hind legs as his forelegs rested on the desk. Altair and Malik both looked over at the dog with curiosity. He sniffed the artifact, growled, then knocked it off the table with a buck of his head. The two Assassins immediately stood up, but took a few steps back as it began glowing.

"Altair-!"

"It's..."

"_Is that...?_ _Your horse...?"_

Altair nodded as he stared into the artifact. The Apple was showing them the same image, apparently. The image was hazy, bands of golden light surrounding the actual picture. But from what the two Assassins could make out, Altair's horse was riding throughout the Kingdom with an unfamiliar woman with cascading golden curls on his back.

"Who is that?"

"I'm not sure."

The hound, however, barked happily and stamped his feet excitedly. Oh, he could hardly wait for the treats and scratches behind his itchy ears!

Altair blinked out of the seductive grasp the Piece of Eden had over him and quickly placed his palm over the object. It immediately stopped glowing, and Malik returned to reality. He blinked, then shook his head. "_What was that?"_

"I believe it is trying to tell us something."

"Who was the woman, Altair?"

He remained silent as he heard Bayo whimper impatiently. '_Was that... Hildegard...?'_ He gulped and looked at Malik. "I do not know, but they are only hours from Masyaf."

Malik nodded and began walking out of the study. "I'll double the patrol, tell the guards-"

"No."

"No?"

"She does not mean us harm."

He walked back over to the Master and furrowed his eyebrows together. "How do you know this?"

"I just do." He sighed when Malik stood his ground, not believing one word he said. "Malik, if there was one thing you'd ever trust me with-"

"I've trusted you into leading us to victory before, Brother."

He nodded. "Then trust me with this as well."

"You're going to let that woman waltz right in here? Without telling any of our Brothers?"

He smirked. "If Farug trusts her, I believe we are safe, Malik."

Malik snorted and shook his head. "Oh, great. We're entrusting the safety and future of our Brotherhood in the hands of a horse."

"Hooves, Malik. Horses don't have hands-"

"I was talking about you."

* * *

Zaina sighed as she walked. Aden had returned to the inn with Belle, and she was in no mood seeing her brother after what she had confessed to Olivia. She felt awful about her feelings toward Damiel. She didn't know when she had ever felt something other than annoyance toward the boy, but knew that she definitely felt _something_ for him. Why else would her heart take flight just from thinking about him? And when she saw his bare chest while on the boat...

The girl was sad to say that it took all of her strength to tear her eyes away from him. Even if he had scars, and plenty of them, she didn't care. His olive skin was still beautiful and so alluring.

She knew that she should not have been interested in the opposite sex at a time like this. Hildegard was in grave danger, and all she could think of was Damiel? Preposterous!

But...

Damiel was so gorgeous for his age. He had sharp and angular features, yet they were so soft and cheerful. His perfectly straight teeth had such charm to them, and his smile was even more attractive and charming. He was everything that she wanted.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she trudged past the villagers. They gave her most unsettling glares— probably for not wearing a headdress and proper Arabic clothing suitable for women. She sighed and ducked her head low so she wouldn't see the hatred in their eyes.

'_What am I going to do? I can't just right out tell him... He'll... he'll think I was a foolish woman.'_ She pouted and stamped her foot. '_Zaina, you can steal the goods right under a merchant's nose, yet you can't steal the heart of the boy you like. Why am I so pathetic?'_

She kicked the dirt as she shoved her hands in her pockets and continued on. '_What if Aden finds out? How will he react? Will he be willing to accept Damiel? I doubt it.'_ She picked up a stone and tossed it as far as she could. It didn't fly too far, which caused the girl to frown sadly. '_I am _so _pathetic...'_

The guard kept his eyes on the strange girl wandering throughout the village. He pulled out the crumpled parchment from his pocket describing his victim. Short black hair, tanned skin, green eyes, short stubby legs, unusual clothing...

Yes, this was the girl, alright.

He held his hand out and balled it in a fist. The command had two dozen more guards join him from where he was standing. He pointed at the girl with two fingers, then slashed his hand in front of his neck. The guards smirked from underneath their helmets, and then closed in on the girl.

* * *

"So, if we take this road right here..." Damiel unraveled Benjamin's map and held it close to his face as he studied it. "...and then follow this squiggly lookin' line..."

Maria sighed and took the map from him. She frowned, looking for the 'squiggly lookin' line', and stared at the boy. "You _fool_! This squiggly line, Damiel, represents _water!_ We are on _horseback!_ Our horses cannot run on water, dimwit!" She whipped the map back into his hands and grumbled underneath her breath. Benjamin had asked her and Damiel to scout the perimeter of the village out, and that is exactly what they were doing. Their horses were tied to a nearby tree while they strolled through the weeds and dried grass.

Maria turned away from the boy and stepped over a fallen log as she did so. Damiel stuck his tongue out at her and made a face at her back. Frowning, she whipped around, only the boy's face was as innocent as an angel's. She rolled her eyes and jogged past him.

"According to the map," he said as he sauntered over to her. "If we continue in this direction, we should reach a town by the end of tomorrow- if we ride with all haste. But, if we don't..."

"We'll befriend the ground for the night."

"_Sí_, looks like it." He smirked at her and handed the map back. She took it and double-checked his analysis. Satisfied, she smiled and clasped her hand on his shoulder. He grinned and mimicked her.

"You know, Damiel, you're still that obliviously happy, addlepated boy from the Crusades.""

He chuckled. "I know, Ria. There's still me, you, and Benny, but no Robert. God almighty, that man drove me _insane_." He let his hand fall back to his side as he placed his hands on his hips and spoke the accent that Robert had. "It was always 'eugh, you stupid boy! Pick up your feet and start marching!', or 'why do I even have you in my army if you cannot even fight with a sword? Eugh, you are despicable!'" He shook his head and stuck his tongue out. "It was always something _I _did when I hardly did anything wrong. Hmph!"

Maria looked at him with a bored expression, doing her best to hide her amusement. "I don't know, Damiel," she scratched her chin in thought as she tilted her head up. "Could it be the fact that no matter what town or city we visited, we'd find you in the midst of a dozen women, casually sipping wine and ignoring my orders?"

"That was only one time-"

"Or maybe it was the fact that you'd be obliged to climb buildings and jump from house to house, scaring the villagers and townspeople and jeopardizing our cover?"

"Hey, I couldn't help-"

"Or perhaps it's possibly because you used to make faces at Robert's back when he wasn't looking?"

Damiel laughed and crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Hey, Maria, he didn't even _know_ I did that to him."

"Except when Benjamin told him."

"He _what?_"

"Don't look so surprised, Damiel. Benjamin practically told Robert _all_ of your silly antics." She chuckled when the boy pouted and stamped his foot. She rolled her eyes when he stuck his tongue out at her. "Don't give me that look."

"Then I'll give you this look," he crossed his eyes and grinned widely at her. "Does this suit your tastes?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. She could practically feel the headache threatening to descend upon her. "No, but it suits your face rather nicely."

He gawked and frowned at her. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're ugly."

"Hey! I try my best to look good— you want to know how _hard_ it is to try to stay nice and pretty when you're sweating half the time?"

"Well maybe you shouldn't sweat."

He narrowed his eyes at her and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe _you_ can control your sweat glands, Maria, but _I_ can't. How'd you even manage to stay decent while in the Crusades?"

She twirled her hair around her index finger as she gave him an impish smirk. "You think I looked good while marching?"

"You had a horse, so _technically_, the horse was marching, not you."

"That changes nothing."

Damiel snorted and tossed his head to the side. "Alright, yes, I thought you looked rather menacing while marching. I mean, come _on_! Your hair was always being blown in your face, you had this scowl that sort of looked like this," he scrunched his face up and puckered his lips out, "you had the _best_ posture— even if you were experiencing your monthly curse— and your eyes were always ahead of you. You never fidgeted; you never complained about the blasted heat that the good ol' sun tortured us with. You were just the definition of a soldier." He chuckled, adding in, "Even if your breast bands _would_ come undone now and then..."

"They _what_?" She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "You filthy, pig-headed stupid _boy_."

Damiel shrugged innocently and smirked. "Hey, I'm a male, I can't help it!"

"Control your testosterone, dammit."

"Again, I have no control over hormones either, Ria."

She spat on the ground and walked away from him. "_May your balls become infested with warts and penis turn into a leech._"

He howled in laughter and jogged over to her. "Awh, come on, Maria, where's your-"

"Did you hear something?"

He shrugged. "No, what was it?"

She held her hand up at him and narrowed her eyes. "It sounded like—"

"Maybe the frog found a new victim," he huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I _told_ you to kill it.."

"No, _listen_." She silenced him again as they both stared up at the sky. Damiel knitted his eyebrows in concentration, and sure enough, he heard a high-pitched, almost screech, in the distance. He shrugged, not thinking it a big deal.

"So? People scream every day, Maria."

"I think... I think we should go back."

He snorted and smirked at her. "Why, you think that the others are in danger? Maria, they can handle themselves."

"I just... I have a _bad_ feeling about this, Damiel."

"You're over-thinking it—" But before he could finish his thought, Maria was already saddled up onto her horse and digging her heels into its sides. He sighed, climbed up onto his steed, and did the same.

Maria galloped closer and closer back to the village, but abruptly pulled her horse to a stop and raised her hand for Damiel to do the same. He tugged on the reins and looked over at her, a small frown on his face. The woman narrowed her eyes down and motioned for Damiel to follow her. She led him to a small hill overseeing the village. It wasn't drastically far away, but it had enough elevation for them to see without being seen. She swung out of the saddle and fell to the ground, blending in as best as she could. Damiel did the same.

"Maria," he whispered, "what's going on?"

"_Shh._" She glared at him, but turned her head back to the village. What she saw mortified her completely.

* * *

"_ADEN!_" Zaina screeched as a guard ran toward her and grabbed her arm, his free hand bringing the blade closer to her throat. "_ADEN, HELP ME!"_ The other men surrounded her, unsheathing their swords and waiting for her brother. Tears stained Zaina's face as seconds past by without her brother arriving. The guards chuckled from her useless attempt at trying to free herself. The man that had her arm in his steel grip held her tighter and twisted the skin on her arm. She cried out in pain, but soon smiled in joy as she saw her brother and Olivia sprinting toward her.

Aden unsheathed both of his short swords and immediately took action. He swung his blades at the nearest guard while Olivia knocked an arrow and fired. It landed perfectly into the left side of one of the guard's chest plate, piercing through the armor and his flesh. He cried out, but slumped to the ground as blood poured from the wound.

Aden sliced across one of the guard's neck, but sharply turned around when he heard Olivia grunt in pain.

More guards had come from behind them and one of them had slammed the hilt of their sword on the back of the archer's head. She shrieked when he turned her around to punch her in the face. He hit her square in the nose, and she stumbled backward from the blow. Blood slowly started seeping out of her nostrils, and she soon gasped as the guard's boot slammed into her ribs. The breath was knocked from her and she fell backward, the guard taking the opportunity to slam his feet into her sides multiple times.

Aden growled and ran to assist his friend, but heard his sister gasp as the guard holding her slammed his fist into her stomach. Spit flew from her mouth, and she crumpled over.

The Arabic man was torn in half. Part of him needed to help Olivia— that man was relentless and continued to abuse her ribs and sides. On the other hand, Zaina was being surrounded by men. His brotherly instincts kicked in; it was his _sister_ practically being assaulted! He snarled and turned on his heel and smashed his blades against the guards. Zaina came before Olivia, he was sure of that. He was sure that his friend would understand.

However, he stopped when he felt the stinging cold steel of a sword slash across his back. He spun around, only to have a fist sail straight at his face. He grunted from the blow and was about to leap back into action when one of the guards clicked their tongue.

He looked over to what the man was sneering at. He held a blade to Olivia's throat, ready to slice the flesh. The woman stared at him with huge bluegreen eyes, her face pale white. He'd have thought her dead if her chest wasn't trembling in fear and horror.

"One more move, _Arab_," the guard said with narrowed eyes, "and the woman's life ends." Aden growled and stood still. Amusement flashed in the guard's eyes. "Drop your swords."

Aden slowly uncurled his fingers from the hilt of his sword. He watched silently as the shortswords fell to the dirt, two soft thuds sounding from the contact. The other men laughed at the defeated man. Aden turned his head to glare his worst at them, but was shoved to the ground. Zaina watched with hot tears in her eyes as her brother was beaten, the wound in his back deepening from the men tearing at it. He hissed through his teeth and would have most certainly loved to teach the men a lesson or two. But Olivia's life counted on his actions.

The archer closed her eyes and shook her head. The guard smirked victoriously and picked the woman up. He motioned for his men to do the same to Zaina. She hissed at them and struggled, but soon quieted down when they each slammed a fist into her stomach.

Aden looked at his sister with a pained expression. He mouthed the words 'I'm sorry' as one of the guards gave a sharp blow to the back of his head. His eyes rolled back and his vision became clouded with the dark unknown as the men dragged him out of the village and onto horses.

* * *

Maria shook her head in disbelief from seeing her comrades being hauled up onto horses. She and Damiel both saw the cuts and gash on Aden's back, his blood darkening his light tunic. However, what was more interesting but not more surprising was the emblem on the guards' uniforms.

"_Templars,"_ Damiel hissed.

'_How could this have happened? Where was Benjamin?'_ She glanced at Damiel and stifled back a groan. His brow was knitted together severely, the veins in his forehead protruding. He was sweating, his face turning a light shade of red, and his nostrils flared with anger at what he saw. '_Please, don't do anything stupid...'_

But, he was still a boy, unable to comprehend situations. He sprang forward, but soon met the ground face first as Maria pounced on him. She hissed in his ear, "_Don't. They might hurt them."_

He huffed and tried to wiggle free, but stopped when he saw Olivia turn her head in their direction. The German gave a firm shake of her head and mouthed the word 'no'.

Damiel blinked and stared helplessly. His friends were being taken away to God knew where and he couldn't do anything about it, and they didn't even _want_ him to try to help. Maria felt him relax from underneath herself and rolled off of him once the guards had gotten onto their horses and ridden off. Damiel slowly got to his feet and looked at her.

"Maria, w-what..."

"I don't know, Damiel."

"Where's Benny?" he said urgently. "He wasn't one of the captives. Where is he?"

Maria shook her head. "I don't know, Damiel, I don't know."

"We have to go back into the village and look-"

"_No._ If the guards captured those three, then no doubt they're looking for us, Damiel. We have to continue on to Acre."

He gasped and looked absolutely appalled at what she said. "But, Maria-"

"Just listen to me, Damiel_,_" she spat at him. "I am not ordering you as a member of the Rose or as a friend— I am ordering you to continue on with me as your _superior_."

He balled his hands into fists but gave a firm nod. She walked away from him and got back onto her horse. She trotted up to him and looked down at him expectantly. He sighed and shook his head, but pulled himself up in the saddle and followed her as she galloped away from the village, abandoning their friends.

* * *

"Master! Master Altair!" The novice ran throughout the fortress as fast as he could, looking for the Leader of Assassins. He was not in his study, nor his room, nor the baths, nor the library. Where in Allah's name was the man? "MASTER ALTAIR!"

The other Assassins and guards looked at the boy curiously, wondering why he would bellow for their Master in such a way.

"...so, you do not like kibbeh?"

"No, Malik, I do not like kibbeh."

"But it is such a delicious and common food amongst Arabs!"

"Malik. I do not. Like. Kibbeh."

Master and best friend were walking back into the fortress with Bayo happily walking next to him. They had just returned from the marketplace, having purchased kibbeh. Malik absolutely loved the food, while Altair preferred his pita bread and feta cheese. Bayo would have most certainly have loved to taste both foods, but he was not allowed to. He'd live, though.

The two men both turned their heads up as they witnessed a novice running as fast as possible down the stairs, miss a step, and tumble down into the training courtyard. Both Assassins looked at each other, then back at the boy.

"Is he one of yours?"

Malik sighed. "I'm afraid so."

Altair nodded and stood still as the boy recovered and ran over to him.

"MASTER ALTAIR!" He would have surely collided with Altair, had it not been for Malik reaching out to stop him. "Master... Alta...ir..."

"Yes? Be out with it, what is it?"

The novice gulped and shook himself free of his fatigue. "There's a woman, sir! At the post just outside of Masyaf! She claims to have an appointment with you, Master!"

"Appointment?" Malik turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Altair. "You were expecting her from the very beginning?"

Altair didn't answer his question. "Let her pass the post, but let her be-"

"Our Brothers do not trust her, Master!"

He sighed and gently gripped the boy's shoulder. "Let me finish, child. Tell my men to keep her at the post for another hour. That gives us enough time to prepare ourselves." The novice nodded and dashed off to tell the other Assassins the news. Altair looked over at Malik and smirked. "And you, Malik..."

He groaned and placed his hand on his hip. "I have a very bad feeling about this..."

"You will do well to entertain our guest while I ready our men." He nodded at Malik and brushed past him. His best friend shook his head and sighed.

"It's always _me_ that gets the ridiculous tasks..." He narrowed his eyes and straightened his back in determination. "No matter; once this is over, I'll be sure to have Bayo rip his manhood off."

Altair walked briskly throughout the fortress, waving his hand to motion some of his best men over to him. They obediently sidled over and walked parallel to him as he searched every room for the desired Assassins. The Master walked ahead of them and entered his own chambers, and the Assassins stood at the door politely, their hands clasped behind their back and heads bent downward. He searched through the papers on his desk until he found the letter from Hildegard. He snatched it off of the pile and tucked it into one of his pouches. The Assassins parted out of respect as Altair walked out of his door and down the steps. They followed him and remained silent, waiting for their Master to inform them on what was happening.

After several minutes of silence as he gathered the last of his best Hashashin, he finally spoke. "There is a woman being held at our post outside of Masyaf," he quickened his pace when novices began giving the group of Assassins curious stares, wondering what was happening, "and I do not know if she is friend or enemy."

"Will you have us posted in the fortress, Master?" one of them asked, glancing back and forth between the Assassins and the Leader.

"No," Altair said without a moment's hesitation. "My concern is with the people of Masyaf. I want all of you to distribute yourself amongst the people. Remember our Creed, protect the citizens. I am not concerned with myself."

They nodded, and with a wave of his hand, they left the fortress to do as they were told. Altair sighed once they were gone and pursed his lips together. He whistled, and no sooner had the sound escaped his lips had Bayo arrived. The dog happily ran up to him and sat down next to his master's feet obediently. Altair smirked and scratched the dog between his ears before walking off. Bayo remained where he was, and the man soon reappeared with a bit of raw meat in his hands. Bayo's ears perked up, and his jaws clamped down on the meat once the Assassin threw it in the air for the dog to catch.

"Now, then, Bayo," he knelt down in front of the dog and cupped the dog's mouth. "Let's just see if she is who she says herself to be."

Bayo barked and gave a nod of his head in understanding.

* * *

"I _told you,_ already. My name is Hildegard, I've business with your Master that does not require his ilk to question me!"

"How do you know of our Master?"

Hildegard groaned and rolled her eyes. She'd been at this post for almost an hour now, and the men wearing white robes with hoods covering their faces had been asking her the same group of questions over and over again. Was it honestly that hard to understand her purpose? "I know of him from a friend."

They glanced at one another and gave brief shakes of their heads. "That does not persuade us to trust you, woman."

"Listen, _pal_." Hildegard stormed over to the man and punctuated each word with a sharp jab of her index finger in his chest. "I just spent three or four days riding to reach a God forsaken fortress. I haven't had a proper bed, or food, or clothes for that long. On top of that, I was hounded by some foolish and pathetic farm boy, had my belongings stolen from me _as well as my money_, and was dragged around for the past day by a blasted horse! The least you.. _gentlemen_ could do is allow me to pass to complete my mission." She glared at them and flicked a stray strand of her wild blond hair out of her face. "Unless you Assassins were never taught manners."

All of the men remained silent until one of them grunted and turned his head to look up at the tower to their right. It was a vantage point, that much Hildegard knew, with several men at the very top of it with bows and arrows strapped to their backs. They waved down at them, and the man that she presumed to be the leader of this small band of men nodded at Hildegard. "Come," he said.

She narrowed her eyes and shrugged free of the men gripping her arms to guide her to their fortress. She scoffed at them and held her head high. Shihad was following behind, whinnying happily. Honestly, Hildegard had no idea where she was the night before. She was lost and desperate, so she allowed the horse to lead her to Masyaf. And it had led her to Masyaf, alright, she was certain of that. What other city had suspicious figures keeping guard outside?

She walked with the dignity of royalty as she was led up a rocky path with a few men in front of her and even more tailing behind her. They all kept their backs straight, their heads raised elegantly, and their gait smooth and controlled. It wasn't anything like the Englishmen back in London that walked with a slouch and forced their feet in front of the other. No, these men were poised and trained to have finesse. She admired them greatly.

Hildegard couldn't help but be reminded of Aden with the way they moved.

Her eyes widened when she arrived at the gates. They were wooden, yet they looked as if they could withstand army after army. There were men posted outside of the gates. They narrowed their eyes at Hildegard, but said nothing as she and her escorts past through. She was even more amazed by what she saw.

It wasn't just a fortress, oh no. It was a true city with huts and houses scattered about. The alignment seemed a bit messy, but it was beautiful nonetheless. There was a small fountain right in front of the gates that sprinkled water and children were playing in it. They splashed each other and ran around, squealing out of delight and surprise as their friends threw handfuls of water at them. Hildegard smiled from the sight. Children always had a way of adding charm to cities.

The blonde beauty was led throughout the town. They walked up yet another hill. She couldn't help but notice that the villagers were giving her quizzical looks. What was an Englishwoman- a _Christian-_ doing here? And why was she not wearing proper Arabic clothing? Had she no shame?

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at a woman that was frowning and shaking her head at her. '_If you knew what I've been through, then you'd most certainly show some respect.'_

The men in front of her glanced behind them to look at the woman. They quickly turned their heads back when she glared at them. Hildegard smirked despite herself.

They finally stopped in front of an iron gate and her escorts bowed down at the man in front of them. She recoiled her head in confusion. _This_ was the Grandmaster of the Assassins?

'_This... this... this CRIPPLE, this pathetic excuse of a man is the one that Maria tumbled head over heels for? Oh, God, I need to speak to her about her tastes in men...'_ She remained stoic and devoid of emotion as the man in front of her scanned her. He narrowed his eyes, clearly not amused with what he saw. Well, neither was she. She expected a broad, intimidating figure that gave off the aura of power and superiority. She pictured a man that was nearly clothed in weaponry, his hand at the hilt of his sword, ready to cut down any-

'_I expected a man with TWO arms...'_

He cleared his throat and a handful of her escorts immediately stood up and walked behind her to lead Shihad back to the stables. The other men waited patiently for their orders.

His voice was deep and raspy, as if his lips had not touched water in a year. "What is your business here?"

"I have come to speak with your Master." Hildegard narrowed her eyes at him and mimicked his expression. If he was going to be rude to her, then she would be rude to him. "Your men had already asked me that question about, oh, say ten times?"

His frown deepened. "You should be impressed with our discipline and caution."

"Oh, I'm impressed alright," she snorted. She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her shoulders casually. "If you are the Master of the Assassins, then I'd say that I am _entirely_ in awe."

His nostrils flared slightly from her remark, but he quickly composed himself. "I see. So, you say you seek an audience with our Master, yet you do not know him. I conclude that you are either lost and confused, or that you are an enemy. Or perhaps, you are both."

"And I conclude that you are either an _idiot_ or lacking the bollocks to let me pass."

He tilted his head arrogantly to the side and looked down at her. "Since when do men need balls to have brains?"

"Ever since they began thinking with them."

The escorts each gave a cough and looked back and forth between the woman and the man uneasily. This wasn't looking good for either of them.

"What is your name, woman?"

"Hildegard. And yours, cripple?"

He remained silent and smirked at her. "Come. The Master wishes to see you." He turned away and walked into the courtyard. She rolled her eyes, but followed him. He walked up a set of stone stairs and nodded to the occasional novice walking past him to complete their tasks. Hildegard glanced side to side, taking in what she saw. The courtyard was a training arena with a ring in the middle of it. The shouts of men could be heard even when she entered the fortress and was led up yet another flight of stairs. Finally, her rude escort stopped and gave a small bow to the man sitting at the desk before her. "Master Altair, she is here."

'_Altair? The name sounds familiar... Perhaps Maria mentioned him by name before?'_

The Master of Assassins looked up from his desk and gave a grim and unnerving smile at the woman.

"Sit." He waved his hand to a seat in front of his desk. Hildegard gulped. She eyed the man nervously, as if he would lash out at her at any given moment. He was tense, she could tell by the way his arms were slightly hunched, ready to leap into action and kill her. And that smile of his only made matters worse. There were hardly any lines near his mouth, so smiling wasn't exactly something this man did often. She took a deep breath to brace herself for whatever may come, and helped herself to the chair. Chills travelled up and down her spine as she sat for what seemed an eternity in silence. She felt like a rat cornered by a snake. He was the cobra that was slowly tightening its hold on her, choking the life out of her. He had merely said one word and already she was losing her spirits. She wrung her hands together nervously, keeping her eyes down.

_'To Hell with what he looks like, Hildegard! This bastard left Maria, and you've a mission still to complete. Give him what he deserves.'_

With this new statement of energy, she let her eyes roam over him. Although he was sitting down, she could tell that he had lengthy legs and was a tall man— much like Aden, but Aden was much, _much_ broader. But the man in front of her was everything she imagined Maria's lover to be. He had a sense of knowledge and patience, yet there was something about the way he had his right hand resting on his left hand that was missing a ring finger that told her he had taken many, many lives before, and he wouldn't hold back from adding hers to the collection. No wonder Maria was interested in him.

"You are Hildegard, I presume?" He spoke English, yet his accent was clear as day, his tongue rolling off of the 'l' and flicking off of the 'r' of her name. His voice was deep and smooth, yet as harsh as knives. She nodded and remained silent. "Do you remember what day you told me you'd be arriving at Masyaf in your letter?" Annoyance. Clearly, annoyance, and something else. Was it desperation? Anticipation?

"What letter?" The one-armed man raised an eyebrow in interest and walked over to him. "Altair, you never told me you received a letter from this woman."

Hildegard guessed that when the Master of Assassins turned his hooded head over to his ally that he was glaring death itself at him. She raised an eyebrow at the Leader. "Keeping secrets from your own people," she murmured, keeping her voice down. "Oh yes, that's... that's very nice and trustworthy..."

Both men turned their attention back to the woman. Altair swallowed and composed himself. "Answer my quest-"

"Tuesday. I said I'd arrive Tuesday. Now, do be quiet for me to explain my tardiness, would you?" Hildegard grinned triumphantly at him as he set his mouth in a straight and humorless line, disapproving of her behavior. She knew she should have at least shown _some_ manners— after all, he didn't kill her yet, but she decided against it. She had gone through too much on her journey to Masyaf to be a meek kitten that ate from someone's palm outstretched toward her. "Thank you. I was indeed meant to arrive Tuesday, but I met certain unfortunate events. Like I had explained to your men posted outside of this city— Masyaf, is it?— I was held captive for one day by a man infatuated with me." She glared at the other man when he grunted in amusement. Surely no one would become attracted to such a woman as she?

"Pardon my rudeness, woman," he said. "But I find that hard to believe when you are in such a condition. Dirty hair, dirty face, dirty clothes..." he clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head.

"Let her finish, Malik," Altair said with narrowed eyes underneath his hood.

Hildegard rolled her eyes. "I had my purse stolen from me— not once, but _twice_, as well as my belongings. I became lost, but luckily for me, my horse seemed to know the way to Masyaf." She sat back in her chair and raised her legs so that her feet rested on his desk. She smirked smugly. "Satisfied?"

Altair lowered his head in disgust at her behavior, but said nothing of it. Malik, on the other hand, looked like he was about to strangle the woman for showing such disrespect toward the Master. The Leader cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, Farug ran away about a week ago, as I was-"

"Farug?"

"The horse."

Hildegard frowned and raised an eyebrow. "You mean Shihad? He belongs to Assassins?"

Altair tilted his head to the side. "'Shihad'? Is that what you've been calling him? But to answer your question, yes, he belongs to Assassins— to put it in more detail, he is _my_ horse." His voice reeked of ownership and possession over the beast, as if he was accusing Hildegard of stealing him.

"Ah," Hildegard said, ignoring his tone of voice. She twiddled her thumbs and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. "That answers why there was a strange emblem on his saddle and how he knew the way to Masyaf." She smirked and shook her head at nothing in particular. Of all the people that that horse had to belong to...

"Indeed."

Malik rolled his eyes. "You still have not told us about why you are here-"

"Patience, Malik, patience. One must be very slow for the lower class, Brother."

The woman clenched her fist and narrowed her eyes from the insult. "I suppose I didn't answer that question. At least not _completely_," she hissed at both men.

He raised his hand in the air and gave a victorious smile at Altair. "See, Brother? I knew it; she was up to no good from the start."

"I'm here on behalf of the Order of the Rose, and more importantly, to discuss someone we both know," Hildegard turned her head to look at Altair. "Maria Thorpe." Altair's breath hitched in his throat from hearing her name spoken so casually, and Hildegard did not pretend she didn't hear it. "Ah, so familiar with her, are we?" She smirked once more and began fiddling with the quill on his desk. "Strange to see such a reaction from you, I must say," she mused as she twirled the object around with her fingers. "Seeing as how you failed to show _any_ sign of concern over the past year..."

Malik groaned and placed his hand on his hip. "Is this why this woman is here? To discuss _that_ woman?"

Altair tilted his chin arrogantly and glowered at her, his hold on the rat becoming tighter. "I'm afraid that _you_ do not understand, Hildegard."

"Understand _what_?" She stood from the chair slowly and breathed in to control her anger not only from his sign of dominance, but also from the fact that he'd dare deny it! "I do not understand that you _abandoned_ her? That you did not chase after her or that you did not care enough to take responsibility for the son she gave you?"

"She_ what?"_ Malik stared at Altair, his jaw slightly slack. "She... she gave you a _son_?" Altair glared at Hildegard from underneath his hood, but swallowed the anger back. He repeated the tenets of the Creed inside his mind. He would stay his blade from an innocent, and if it meant staying his emotions from Hildegard, who, unfortunately for him, was an innocent, he would do so. If it meant hiding his true feelings in plain sight so that Hildegard would not thrive off of mocking him, he would do so. He would not compromise himself by subjecting to her ridicule.

The Master of Assassins rose from his chair and towered over Hildegard, taking some enjoyment when she took a nervous step back. He tilted his head just enough for his hood to expose shadowed eyes that sent chills up and down her spine. "You do not understand," he began as he fought the urge to snarl at her, "that Maria holds a very important and dear position to me." He frowned and growled, "That woman has learned many of the Assassin's secrets, and I do not trust that information with just anyone, Hildegard. Perhaps you should consider the fact that there were complications- and too many of them," he stole a glimpse at Malik and his frown deepened from the sight of him, "for me to drop everything that's been occupying me for the past year to give chase to a woman that left_ me_."

_"_Oh, of _course_ she left you! And I wonder why, seeing as how you-"

"ENOUGH_._" He slammed his fist onto the table and bared his teeth at Hildegard. She cowered and took yet another step back, gulping. "You will _not_ speak of _me _or _Maria _in such a manner, woman. And you will refrain from using these accusations to bolster a confidence that you clearly lack, and you will do _well _to keep in mind the respect that we _both _share for our topic of conversation." His voice resonated around the room, surrounding the woman with its vicious tone.

'_No, not a snake,'_ Hildegard thought. '_But an eagle digging his talons into me, the eagle's snack.'_

"Altair," Malik said in a warning tone. He glanced at his Master and then at Hildegard, giving a subtle shake of his head.

She swallowed back her fear and stood straight and tall. "I do not believe you." She placed both hands on her hips and looked unconvinced at him. "You are nothing more than a foolish man, _Altair_." She spat on the floor and narrowed her eyes at him. Malik looked absolutely on the verge of slitting her throat. The other man dug his nails into the wood, his knuckles turning white. She cleared her throat and continued on in a much louder and serious voice, "You have not seen the condition she is in _because of _YOU! _You_ are not the one who had to comfort her and prevent her from killing herself due to the absence of _you_ in her life. _You_ did not have to watch her give birth to a _dead son!_ _You_ have no idea what the Rose has been through over the past year BECAUSE OF _YOU!__"_

"And what gives you the right to speak to me in such a way? Here you are: a sheep amongst wolves in our fortress. If needed, I will remove your tongue and keep it as a trophy that'd hang above my bedpost as a sign that I silenced the _bitch_ that spoke with such an ill tone," he hissed at her, the corner of his mouth curling up, baring his teeth. She visually shrank from the poison laced together with his words as well as his penetrating monotone voice and wrapped her arms around herself.

He licked his lips and breathed in heavily. "I take full responsibility for her current status, and I regret it greatly," he said through gritted teeth. He exhaled, his patience running thin as his body shook with the need to spill this woman's blood. "I would also regret bringing harm to you: a woman that has no business meddling in an Assassin's affairs. As Grandmaster, I'd be obliged protecting my Order from the likes of _you_."

She smirked at him, but soon her eyes widened in shock. In a heartbeat, he had sprung over to her and had his hidden blade unsheathed and pointed at her throat. "Consider your next words carefully, _woman_."

After a brief moment of staring at the cold metal pressed up against her throat in shock, Hildegard scoffed and shook her head in annoyance. "If you think that I'm so meek as to give up my plight from a threat, you're mistaken. I care too much for Maria to abandon my reasons for being here." She tilted her chin and looked him directly in the eye, hiding her fear under a mask of indifference. "And also, you regret _nothing_ because you _do not_ care. You are an Assassin, trained to not care for who you murder. Well, let me tell you something," she lowered her voice as her eyes gleamed with hatred, "she might as well be dead with how she's been over the past year. The only person you have to blame is yourself. And I _do_ hope that you choose to contemplate your actions and atone for what you've done— or better yet, go to confession."

Altair clenched his hands into fists and inhaled greatly to compose himself. The woman decided to try his patience once more before leaving. "And perhaps _you _should consider _your_ next words carefully, _boy_."

The Master of Assassins merely smirked coldly from her remark. He was through with raising his voice at her. If she was going to insult him and not hear him through, then he would be the total ass that she expected him to be and give her a taste of her own medicine. He removed his blade from her throat. "I'm afraid _boys _are not capable of impregnating women, Hildegard."

She bit her lower lip and trembled in anger and turned to look at Malik. "If you'd be so kind to show me to my room," she demanded from the man. She stared him down with a frightening glare, challenging the cripple to protest.

Malik looked at Altair for objection, but the Leader showed no sign of raising argument. _How dare that woman order one of his own men in such a way- and Malik to be more precise!_ _And just when he had thought he had his anger under control! _Altair kept his face as emotionless as a rock and as hard as steel as he stared at the woman. Thankful for his hood shielding the glare full of hatred and loathing, he remained still. Malik sighed, mumbled for Hildegard to follow him, and left Altair's study.

* * *

'_Why didn't you tear him to shreds like you've been planning all along?'_ Hildegard fumed in her mind as she followed the crippled man through the fortress. She had never felt so _angry_ in her entire life- not even when her brother had killed her parents, or when she was abandoned for the second time and resorted to keeping men's beds warm just to live. The feeling of heat and hatred built up inside of her. '_How could that man claim to have feelings for Maria when he made no effort to even see her? Damn him! Damn it all!'_

She looked down at her feet while she walked. She had completed her mission; she had reached Masyaf. But would she be able to talk to Altair while keeping her anger at bay? She could tell that there was a great deal of patience buried under his Assassin instincts, yet everyone's patience dwindled and expired eventually. Would she say something that would make him completely blind and furious and attack her— again? She was terrified when she felt the cold steel of his blade against her throat. She could put up a decent fight if she needed to, but he was an _Assassin_, and the _Master_ of Assassins. She'd be dead in a heartbeat.

Malik stopped in front of a door and gave a small nod. "Perhaps you and the Master should attempt conversation again when you are both calmer."

Hildegard snorted and pushed the door open. "_You're_ one to talk about remaining calm," she walked in the room and before the man could say another word, she slammed it shut in his face. She sighed, relieved, when she heard his retreating footsteps. She glanced around the room. What she saw caused her to smile.

She expected to be placed in a cell—she was _sure_ that Malik would have loved to throw her in the dungeon. But, instead, he had given her a modest bedroom that was sparsely decorated. Just a bed, mirror, window and dresser, nothing more. She didn't mind though. The bed looked absolutely lovely and inviting to the woman after sleeping on the ground for what seemed an eternity. But she couldn't rest yet. Instead, she made her way to the window, opened it, and began climbing down the side of the fortress. What she _really_ needed was a bath. And she'd turn Masyaf upside down if it meant finding the bathhouse.

* * *

"Altair, my Brother, is it wise for her to even be here?" Malik sighed and sat down next to his friend at the desk. Altair was staring hard at the wood, his hood down and his face set into a serious expression. He breathed in and out, his nostrils flaring as he did so. It was as if he was trying to burn the table with his eyes. After several moments and the Master visually settling down, Malik continued, "I mean, she was so... brash and rude to us..."

He grunted and closed his eyes. "Be sure the bath maids tend to her and that a meal is prepared for her." He sighed when he heard Malik click his tongue. "She is our _guest_, Malik. I admit, I despise her greatly and I wish to have plunged my hidden blade in her throat and watch the light drain from her eyes. I would have taken _plenty_ of pleasure to see her blood leave her body. However, even Assassins have manners. And even though you do not like the reason why she is here-"

"I wish you would have told me."

"So that you could not only burn Maria's letters, but Hildegard's as well?" he snorted.

"If I knew that she'd be arriving to Masyaf, I would have informed you-"

"Malik?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever read any of Maria's letters?" Altair opened his eyes to look at his friend. His eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth was pursed. Malik sighed and nodded. "What did they say?"

"I didn't read all of them, just browsed through some of them. But from what I read, she seemed extremely lonely. More than once the word 'betrayal' appeared on the paper, Altair. Though, I'll be honest, I felt overjoyed when I read how deprived she felt."

"I see." Altair sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not going to be easy negotiating with Hildegard."

"You can always tie her up," Malik mused and a sly grin slowly spread across his face. "Forgive me for speaking so outwardly, but she is a _bitch_, Altair. A _bitch_."

"Can you blame her? She and Maria are obviously very close, else she would not have made the journey from England to Masyaf."

"Just out of curiosity, Brother," Malik said as he drummed his fingers against the table, "what would you do if Maria was to reenter your life?"

Altair chuckled and shook his head, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. "I'll be quite honest, Malik. I have no idea."

"You would not court her?"

He closed his eyes. "Something tells me she would not like that very much."

"Yet you'd seduce her and-"

"I did not seduce her, Malik," he chuckled once more. "We both fell in love with the other."

Malik scoffed and recoiled his head back in disgust. "Eugh, _love_. It still surprises me that _you'd_ fall in _love_. _You._ You're really not the same person that went into Solomon's Temple with me in Jerusalem."

Altair lowered his head and looked hurt. "I am sorry about that, Malik," he said softly.

Malik waved his hand in dismissal and rolled his eyes. "What's done is done, Brother. Don't bother looking back into it. Instead, think about what we're going to do now— think about what your questions for Hildegard will be. I'm sure you have many."

"Ahh, yes. First and foremost is to learn what this 'Order of the Rose' actually is. She gave a brief description about the faction in her letter, yet she didn't dwell on the matter. I should—"

"Altair. Honest to God. We both know that the first thing you want to ask the woman about is Maria. So, think of things you would like to know about your sweetheart." Malik laughed and stood up from his chair. "Meanwhile, while you're doing that, I'll be with Bayo teaching him how to bite you in the groin over and over again. Good day, _novice_."

* * *

Maria's head bobbed side to side as she drifted off into sleep. Damiel was behind her in the saddle, his own horse tethered to Maria's. He didn't argue when she had asked him to lead the way to let her sleep. He kept his arms at her side as he held the reins, occasionally looking at her sleeping face. It seemed so strange to him. This woman always seemed to be ready to put up a fight, always seemed eager to prove others wrong for her pride's sake. Yet, as he looked at how peaceful she was with her eyelids pressed gently closed, he couldn't help but think she was absolutely the most lovely creature he'd ever seen.

He couldn't help but let his lips gently brush against hers.

She frowned slightly in her sleep, but soon settled down. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. '_What the Hell am I doing?'_ He shook his head and ground his teeth together. '_This is Maria, Damiel! She'd skin you if she knew what you just did.'_ But how was he supposed to barricade his affection for the woman? How was he to tell himself that he couldn't have her when no other man did? Her Assassin was practically non-existing, that much he knew, and she had said she wasn't interested in any other man. But what if he could convince her otherwise?

Yes, she had six more years to her life than he did, but would it really matter? Love didn't depend on age, did it?

Damiel sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. '_No, Damiel, stop it. You've much more important things to worry about. What of Aden, Zaina, and Olivia? Where were they? Where was Benjamin? Why wasn't he captured? Was he dead? Did he escape? Was he in hiding? Dammit! Dammit all to Hell!' _He urged the horse into a faster gallop. He knew that the sudden jerk of the horse's gait would have woken Maria up, but he didn't care at the moment. He had to get to Acre and soon. The Templars were probably following them— or worse, waiting for them at their destination.

* * *

_"Shh, be quiet, John! You'll get us caught!"_

_"What do you mean? This is Doctor Foo we're talking about, Maria! He's too old to hear us!"_

_"That isn't true! He has the ears of a hound and eyes like a hawk! He'll hear—"_

_"I am not _that _old, Jonathan Thorpe. But, more importantly, what are you two doing up this late an hour?"_

_The two children stared at their feet in guilt. They had snuck out of their beds to pay a surprise visit to their tutor, Doctor Foo. However, John Thorpe had thought that the good Doctor would have been asleep. They had been spying on the middle-aged man from behind bookshelves in his library, watching him bury his nose into yet another novel._

_Maria did what she thought would have surely saved herself from being blamed on the matter. "It was all John's idea, I promise!" she stuttered, crossing her arms and shaking her head at her relative. "You're going to get it now, John."_

_He gawked and looked back and forth between their tutor and Maria. "N-n-no it wasn't! Maria told me to get out of bed so that we can visit you!"_

_"Did not!"_

_"Did too!"_

_"Did _NOT!_"_

_"Did _TOO!_"_

_"Enough, enough!" Doctor Foo chuckled and gently took each child by their hands as he led them to his desk. There was a single candle lighting the room up. "Do your parents know you're here?"_

_"No," they both said with shifting eyes. "They think we're sleeping."_

_Doctor Foo sighed and allowed each child to sit in a chair. John and Maria were much too small, only six years of age yet, and they swung their short legs back and forth. "I should be expecting David to be arriving shortly, then."_

_"Nuh-uh!" Maria said, kicking her legs out eagerly. "Davy doesn't know we're here! Besides, he's probably too busy reading an English textbook!"_

_"But he will," John muttered. "He _always_ knows..."_

_The tutor laughed at their grim expressions and rummaged through one of the shelves behind his desk. He pulled out a bread loaf, tore it in half, and gave each piece to the children. They greedily took it and nibbled on it. The entire library was cluttered with books and papers torn from the texts. However, it suited the Doctor very well. Maps were decorating the walls depicting places foreign to the children. They had only ever been in England and found it extremely hard to believe that there were countries beyond their own._

_"So, what brings you to my study?" He sat down in front of them and placed his hands on the table. "I take it you did not just come here for bread?"_

_Each of them giggled and looked at the other nervously. "Well, John began. He unconsciously tore his bread loaf with his little fingers and looked at Maria for help._

_She snorted and rolled her eyes. "We've heard our parents say something about 'crème brulee' and that there's a lot going on in the Middle Yeast," she said with a confident nod of her head. Doctor Foo raised an eyebrow at what she said._

_"Crème brulee? As in the food?"_

_"No, Doctor Foo," she pouted and tore off a piece of her bread with her mouth. "They say things about people dying," she said with a mouthful of bread in her mouth. "I don't think people die over food— do they?"_

_"I don't know," John brought his legs up to the chair and sat cross-legged. "Doctor Foo, what do they mean? What's going on in the Middle Yeast?"_

_He blinked, but finally burst out into laughter, his body shaking with humor. "Ahh! You must mean the Crusades in the Middle East! Ohhoho! My, my, you children certainly have a way of hearing things!"_

_Maria blushed furiously and puckered her lips out in annoyance. "Well? What's going on in the Middle _East_ then?"_

_He coughed and controlled his laughter. However, an amused smile was stretched across his slightly wrinkled face. "Well, little one, the English, Germans, and French have all gathered together to... explore... and learn a new culture."_

_Both of them stared at him with huge eyes. "You mean there's more than one culture than English?" They turned their heads to look at each other with giddy smiles. Doctor Foo chuckled and nodded._

_"Yes, Maria and John, there are many, many civilizations out there."_

_"So, what are the Christians doing exploring new territory?" Maria piped up._

_Doctor Foo sighed and scratched his chin. He couldn't tell them that they were trying to spread their culture by means of forcing themselves upon an existing lifestyle. No, they were too young to understand that, and they both had fairly loose lips. "Ahh, well, you see," he cleared his throat, "we're trying to make friends with another group of people is all, my dears."_

_John frowned and tilted his head to the side. "Why? England is superior, though. We don't need friends, right?"_

_"Ahh, but Jonathan, every culture needs friends! Why, think about how lonely you'd be if you didn't have friends."_

_The boy bit his lip as he thought. "I wouldn't be able to steal apples from the local market then."_

_Maria snorted. "Or steal bananas, or oranges, or strawberries, or—"_

_"Oh, be _quiet_, Maria!" he pouted and crossed his arms. "You're always being such a rat fink!"_

_"Am not!"_

_"Are too!"_

_"AM _NOT!_"_

_"Ah, so there you are."_

_Doctor Foo looked up from the two bickering children to smile at David Thorpe. "Ahh, David! Forgive me for keeping them from their beds, but they seemed to have paid me quite an unexpected visit." He stood to shake the six and ten year old's hand. David was ten years older than Maria and John, and he was also John's older brother. He smiled at Doctor Foo, but frowned when he saw Maria and John tackling each other to the floor, each of them squealing at the other._

_"You must forgive me, as well, for their behavior, Doctor Foo." He gave a sheepish smile and glared at the two children. They paid no attention to him as they rolled around on the floor together._

_Doctor Foo chuckled and waved his hand at the boy. "Ah, nonsense! They are but children after all, David. Do you not remember when you yourself loved to chase your father's horses around the barn? Oh, I do remember Xavier laughing his behind off from seeing you act so childish." He shared a chortle with David and raised his eyebrow in question when he glimpsed at his left hand. "So, it's begun, I presume?"_

_David glanced at John and Maria, who were too busy biting and pulling each other's hair to have noticed him, and took one step closer to Doctor Foo. "Yes, it has begun. Father has told me that I excel where my fellow Brothers do not."_

_"David, you know what this means, do you not?" The tutor put an arm around the young man and led him away from the two children. "You're going to be away from home for a very, very long time, my boy."_

_He gave a humorless smile and closed his eyes. "I'm well aware, Doctor Foo."_

_"And Maria and John? Did you even tell your brother?"_

_He licked his lips as he thought of an answer. Finally, "In time, he will learn what our family truly is— what _he_ truly is. But, for now," he looked over his shoulder at both of them and smiled. Maria had John pinned to the ground while she tickled him. The poor boy howled in laughter while he tried to beg her to leave him alone. "For now, Doctor Foo, I'm content with him being oblivious to the truth."_

_Doctor Foo scratched his neck as he gave David an uneasy glance. "You know, David, you won't be able to see Hélène for a while either. Not just because you'll be away from home, but because of her family being Temp-"_

_"I'm aware of that as well, Doctor Foo." David sighed and glared at his left hand where a ring finger should have been. "I fear not for her life. If I was to remove myself from her existence, then I believe she'd be alright. It's... it's her brother that I'm concerned about."_

_"Robert?" Doctor Foo asked. He cocked his head to the side and shook his head slightly. "What does he have to do with this?"_

_David glanced at the two children once more before lowering his voice. "Father believes that the De Sable's are onto us. They've known for years the true nature of the Thorpe lineage, Doctor Foo, but they are just now starting to take action against us. I also fear for John and Maria..." His voice trailed off as he gave a worried glance at his younger brother and his 'cousin' Maria. "They don't deserve such tragedy in their lives."_

_"Then you must tell Hélène, David. Surely she knows a way to convince her family?"_

_"No, Hélène wouldn't be able to-"_

_"Oooooh, are we talking about _Hélène _again?" Maria said as she finally removed herself from John. The poor boy clutched his sides and heaved from being tickled so much. However, upon hearing Maria mention Hélène de Sable, he immediately forgot the girl's abuse and perked his head up in interest._

_"You mean the lady Davy likes?" He sat up and shared a knowing smirk with Maria. "Maria, don't you find it strange how Davy left the house last week so late at night?"_

_"And didn't return until morning the next day?" Maria and John giggled while David turned a light shade of pink. "Strange also how we saw him climb up into her window as well..."_

_He knelt down to their level and smiled at them. His blue eyes pierced through their gray ones as he narrowed them. "Now, listen, you two," he placed a hand on either of their shoulders, "before you start believing that your brother, John, and cousin, Maria, is up to no good with Hélène de Sable, perhaps you should consider what I should tell father, John, and uncle, Maria. How would he react if he knew that you two were out of bed, sneaking about, disturbing Doctor Foo?"_

_Their smirks quickly disappeared as they gave him an innocent stare, complete with two pairs of huge, pleading grey eyes. "Who's Hélène?" Maria said with a confused look on her face. "I don't know any Hélène. Do you, John?"_

_He quickly shook his head and gave a sheepish grin. "N-no, I do not know an Hélène..."_

_David smiled and ruffled their hair. "That's better, you two. Now, Doctor Foo, if you wouldn't mind," he stood up and gave a firm pat to the man's shoulder, "I'll be taking these two troublemakers back home."_

_Doctor Foo smiled and gave each child a quick wink before saying his farewell to David._

* * *

_"So, Davy," Maria prompted. John's older brother was holding each of their hands as he walked back to his father's estate. "How is Hélène anyways?"_

_He smiled and shrugged. "She's doing well, she's doing well. Her family's business is holding up very nicely, she hasn't had any problems with her parents lately—surprisingly—and Robert is behaving for the most part."_

_John couldn't help but notice that his brother had a slight French accent to his tongue. Probably from spending so much time with the topic they were discussing._

_"Robert," Maria muttered. "I never did like him. Do you remember at my pipe organ concert, Davy? He kept making funny faces at me during the whole production... a bit creepy, no?"_

_David nodded and gripped her hand tighter. "Don't worry, Maria. He was probably holding back a sneeze." And yet David knew that that young man was smirking at Maria because he knew what tragedies she would soon face in her life._

_John rolled his eyes and nudged his brother. "Who cares about Robert," he muttered. "What's more important is the Crème Brulee and the Middle Yeast!"_

_"The what?" David raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother as if he had three heads._

_Maria pouted and sighed. "He means the Crusades and the Middle East," she stated matter of factly, as if she knew every detail on the topic. "Davy, why are we trying to make friends?"_

_David Thorpe furrowed his eyebrows together. Is that what Doctor Foo had told the children? "Because, ehh... we're a lonely country, Maria."_

_"But it's better to place trust in yourself than in others," she insisted. David sighed, partly from annoyance, and partly from relief when they reached their house. He didn't bother answering her question. Instead, he opened the door and led the children back to their beds. Whenever Maria visited her cousins, she would always share a room with John. They'd always be scheming a way to break the rules._

_No wonder they snuck out at such a late hour._

_"Now, you two," David said after he had helped his brother and Maria into their nightwear, "get yourselves some sleep. If I catch you two sneaking out again, I'll be sure to tell Xavier and Emily." He frowned when Maria and John both smirked at him._

_"And if you pay one more night trip to Hélène de Sable," John started, "then we will tell Uncle Xavier and Aunt Emily," Maria finished._

_David sighed and closed his eyes in irritation. "You two are devils in the flesh, you know that?"_

_They both nodded happily, but listened to David as they climbed underneath the sheets. "Good night, Davy," Maria said._

_"Good night, Maria."_

_"Good night, David," John said with a small smirk on his lips._

_"Good night, Jonathan." David walked to the door but spared one last glance at his family. His brother and sister; Sarah and John._

_And of course right when David left the room and quietly shut the door, the two children gave each other an impish smirk and began devising their next escapade for when Maria would visit again._

* * *

And here's a little FF, Fun Fact: 'kibbeh', mentioned when Altair and Malik were walking together, is the Arabic word that is the equivalent to what 'kufta' is, which was mentioned by Damiel in a previous chapter.

Translations:

_Oyé: _hey

_respecto: _respect

_si: _yes

_Vaya!: _an interjection of surprise, shock, etc.


	13. Chapter 10, Part 1

Heeeeeeeere is part 1 of chapter ten... Been working on this, mainly been fussing over the Altair and Hildegard scene. I failed miserably in my previous chapter, portraying Altair as some ninny pathetic little goat, as Maria would say. I tried to fix it, I did. I know it isn't perfect yet and isn't what my readers were looking for, but I tried. Thanks to my reviewers and also to Fate Likes Fools for offering some suggestions.

Editors are outta town, so cheers to me for editting. Woo.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is officially stamped as PWOPERTY! by the Era-Age. Got it, get it, doubt it, got it.

Review, tell me what needs improving! I love criticism! I bathe in it! Don't leave me smelly, people!

...And can you say... REUNION... in next part...?

Oh, and one of my editors, wants me to say this to all of my readers. Please, forgive me for this, but she demands it o.o;

Meadjean would like to say: DAMIEL IS MINE, BITCHESSSSS!

* * *

"Whoa," Maria said in a low voice to the horse. She jerked the reins back when the beast refused to listen. Unwillingly, it came to a stop and snorted in annoyance. She rolled her eyes but turned her attention to the sleeping boy in front of her.

Five days had past since they had witnessed their friends being taken hostage by Templars. They had spent their nights either setting up camp or at a small community, while their mornings were spent riding. They hadn't said much during their travels, but Maria had no complaints. She was either sleeping while he had the reins, or while he was sleeping and vice versa, she'd be too busy lost in the depths of her mind. It seemed too much for her- too rushed, too fast...

She was only meant to assist her friends in finding Hildegard and escape the clutches of Clarence at the wedding. It was never supposed to go _this_ far- the Rose was _not_ meant to be kidnapped. Of course, everything just _had_ to _not_ go according to plan.

'_What was that phrase that Benjamin used to say to me? Ahh, what was it... Even the smallest of holes can sink the greatest of ships? Was that it? Oh, Maria, not only are you worried over friends, but now you're in turmoil with yourself.'_ The woman sighed and was about to shake Damiel's arm when she heard him mumble something under his breath. She frowned, and leaned closer to him to make out what he was saying.

"_Ngh... y-yeah... you know I... course I..."_ She raised an eyebrow and blinked in confusion. _What the Devil?_

Damiel shifted in his sleep and a soft smile appeared on his lips. "_Mhm... course I... course I like... like it... ngh..."_ He pouted his lips and shriveled his face up. Maria breathed in deeply and resisted the urge to punch him off of the horse and to ride away without him. "_Don't... don't stop... I- I like that..."_ Maria rolled her eyes and pinched her brow with her thumb and index finger.

'_If that fool says one more word...'_

"_Woh, baby... I like them big-"_

_"_Damiel! _Wake up_!" She shoved his shoulder and smacked his cheek. "Come on, sleeping hormones, nap time's over." She smirked when she saw him open one eye to glare at her. She shrugged innocently when the other eye flung open and he frowned. "Pardon me if I don't like hearing your mumbling."

He huffed and flexed his shoulders, cracking his back while he did so. "I was having a good dream," he looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at her, "until _someone_ had to ruin it for me..."

"Don't give me that accusing tone, Damiel. Besides, we're about to enter a town."

His ears immediately perked up from this. "Ahh, _magnífico!_" He grinned happily and his eyes took on a dreamy look as he continued, "I can use a bath, some food, a bed, a couple of girls-_ ow!_"

She cracked her knuckles and glared at him. "We'll get you a bath. And food. And _maybe_ a bed, but absolutely _no girls_."

Damiel gave her an impish smirk. "Why, you jealous?"

"Don't even start that with me, I'm in no mood, Damiel," she sighed. His smirk turned into a concerned grin and he hopped off the horse, snatched the reins from Maria, and began leading the animal. Maria humphed and crossed her arms in the saddle. "I'm perfectly capable of riding my own horse, thank you," she snarled at him. He merely chuckled and waved her quiet with his hand.

"I know, I know, just stretching the legs out is all." He jogged happily while leading the horse. "Hey, Ria?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. She grunted and tilted her head to the side. "You're not worried about the others, are you?"

She sighed and the corners of her mouth turned downwards. "I suppose that means you aren't worried?"

"Don't worry about them, then. They can take care of themselves-"

"Did you see the condition Aden was in?" Maria sharply inhaled and closed her eyes. "Damiel, I don't think the situation should be taken lightly. Anything can happen to them- Aden was basically the muscle of that trio. Olivia... she's effective if she has distance between her and her targets _and_ if she even has her bow and arrows. And, well, for Zaina, I wouldn't count on that girl for even dumping her own chamberpot. So, Damiel, to put it simply, they're in grave danger. And on top of that, we have no idea where Benjamin is."

"What about Belle?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I'm not worried about the dog, Damiel. She may not be the best that I've ever trained, but I doubt the Templars are going to rip the entire Holy Land up just to find a hound that can't even listen to the basic 'stay' command. My concern is with the people of our Order."

"Then why are we not helping them?"

"Because our mission is to reach Acre. We cannot rescue them on our own. If we find our allies, then, maybe..." her voice trailed off as she bit her lower lip. "Maybe we have a chance at saving them. But we will never know unless we reach Acre."

He sighed, but kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Five days. Five blasted days! She had refused to speak to that man concerning her friend and purpose of her visit. She had snuck out of her room, visited the baths, and accepted the food that the other Assassins had sent up to her room. More than once, that one-armed man had knocked on her door and had requested her audience with the Master of Assassins. And more than once, Hildegard had refused his offer. For the past four days, she had difficulty staying calm and controlling her anger. Her pillow had suffered the consequences for that. It was shredded, the feathers stuffing it littering the floor and sheets. Not that _she_ cared, though. There were servants for a reason, after all.

Hildegard sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her now clean tunic and her fresh britches were stuffed into her boots. Normally, she'd have dressed a bit nicer for a meeting, but not only did she not have her clothes with her since her satchel was stolen, she honestly didn't care what that man thought of her. She only had to tell him what an ass he was for leaving Maria, tell him about the Rose, and discuss the wedding with him. Oh, she very much wanted to see his reaction to _that_ so that she could sneer at him and mock him further.

She looked forward to the meeting.

Swinging her door open, she descended the flight of stairs to confront that bastard Altair and speak with him in a civilized, controlled, polite, and ladylike manner. '_Best put the mask on now, Hildegard, before it's too late.'_

* * *

The two Assassins rummaged through the papers scattered across the table in the library, filling out what needed to be done and separating the sheets into different piles. Malik, who was handing Altair another stack of papers, frowned when he took note of how red the man's eyes were. "Sleep isn't a friend of yours, is it, Altair?"

He grunted and took the papers from him, his quill immediately attacking the parchment and writing down orders. "Hasn't come for the last four days. The Apple... it's... it's been very generous lately."

Malik sighed and turned his attention back to the papers. "Should I ask why you resort to being addicted to that artifact, or do I already know?" He muttered underneath his breath how disorganized everything was and began to tidy the papers up.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You know why, Brother."

"Is Maria really that important to you?" Malik placed the papers back on the desk and gave him a serious stare. "I want the truth, Altair. Why do you care about that woman so much?"

Altair closed his eyes and slowly opened them to return his friend's gaze. "It's... complicated, Malik... She is-"

"Oh, please, do tell, do tell.." Both men swiveled their heads around to stare at the intruder. However, they immediately frowned, and Malik even gawked when they saw the blonde woman casually making her way over to their table and helping herself to a seat across from the two of them. Her hair flowed down the length of her neck in curls, stopping just past her breasts. She smiled sweetly at them, her elegant face holding a remarkable beauty to it. If only they knew the anger hidden behind the pretty face.

_By Allah, was this a divine being sent down from the Heavens?_

However, Altair sighed when he recognized it to be the bold woman known as Hildegard that had insulted him four days previous when he scanned the clothes she was wearing. She looked significantly different. When they had first spoken- or rather, accused- with each other, she had dirt covering her entire figure. Her hair was a disgusting greasy, almost light brown mess. But now, this woman sitting right in front of him resembled that of an angel.

Altair glanced at Malik and frowned when the man was still slightly stunned from her appearance. He bit the inside of his mouth in annoyance and kicked him from underneath the table. Recovering from his trance, he stuttered, "I take it you have finally recovered enough of your senses to speak appropriately to the Master?"  
"Yes, I have, thank you," she said in the most beautiful and sing-song voice the two had ever heard. Altair, however, was not impressed with her beauty nor her speech. There was already a woman in his life that he thought to be a goddess. "Please, forgive me for my behavior when we first met. I... I was a bit out of my spirits."

Malik slowly nodded his head and gave her a dubious look. "Right... a 'bit'..." He cleared his throat and continued, "now then, shall we speak of why you are here?"

"Alone, Malik. We shall speak alone of why she is here." Altair looked at his friend and the two nodded at each other before the one-armed man reluctantly left the library. He very much wanted to hear what other sort of language came out of the woman's mouth, but orders were orders. Once he had heard the door click shut, he resumed his conversation with the woman. He stared her down, aware that he was not wearing his hood. His features were hard, his face holding emotion that of a rock. He felt inner pride and satisfaction when the woman glanced nervously around the room. _Excellent. She now knows her place when in front of the Master of Hashashins._ He took a deep breath, erasing his sudden satisfaction. "So, tell me, Hildegard," his accent flowed off of each word, creating an atmosphere of insecurity around the woman, "tell me: how is it that _you_, a woman that has so very few manners, knows Maria?"

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and looked him straight in the eyes. She ignored his insult. She knew that he was trying to get her riled up and at his throat- probably so that he can see the fear in her eyes as his blade entered her own neck. She would most certainly _not_ give him that satisfaction. Although his expression was menacing, she was somewhat glad that he was not wearing his hood. When he was wearing the garment, it was as if he had something to hide. She had thought him hiding his own hideous face, but the man before her was anything but hideous. A strong jaw, deep hazel eyes, tanned skin, rich hair the color of chocolate, high cheek bones- he reeked of masculinity. Not only that, but he was incredibly attractive. It wasn't the same features that Aden had- that man was _extremely_ handsome. But, rather, it was unique and exotic, definitely not something common in England. Figures Maria would choose an absolutely beautiful yet lethal man to couple with.

"We've known each other for years, now. We both met during the Crusades," she said flatly. She was completely aware that he was watching her every move, her every breath. If he was trying to unnerve her, he utterly succeeded. The woman did her best to not show her discomfort.

He nodded and continued, his voice emotionless and husky with his hands folded underneath his chin. To one looking in on the conversation, it would have seemed like a normal and simple gesture. Though, Hildegard saw that gleam in his eyes- that look of domination. How _dare_ he try to degrade her in such a way by appearing to be bored and not interested in what she had to say! "So you are her acquaintance-"

"Best friend," she interrupted, smiling with a hint of pride. "We are best friends- should I call you 'Master' like your kind, or by your name?"

"My name would be preferred, Hildegard." He cleared his throat and slightly narrowed his eyes at her. "Maria is no longer one with the Templars. How am I to know that you are not, as your letter claims, a Templar?"

"It is... difficult... describing the matter," she sighed and bit her lip, pretending to be in thought, "I was once a Templar, yes. I served Sibrand since he took me under his wing, but that came to an end when you dispatched of him. I do not hold anything against you," she added in quickly when he raised an eyebrow at her. "He was losing his mind slowly during the entire events that dealt with the nine Templars choking the Holy Land. He... he became obsessed with his own fear even before your blade met the first man's neck. But, anyways, I am now part of the faction known as the Order of the Rose, as I've told you.

We are not Templars, yet we are not Assassins. We despise Templars, yes, but we do not fully understand the Assassins to call ourselves 'friend' to them. Every member was once a former Templar, as I've written to you. There are seven of us in total: four women and three men. The women consist of myself, Maria, a German archer named Olivia, and an Arabic young lady called Zaina. The men are the following: a brute of a man known as Aden, a very respectable war veteran that is a fatherly figure to Maria known as Benjamin, and a soon-to-be man that has yet to mature and refrain from being an idiot called Damiel- he is also a good friend of Maria's and also to myself. Are you satisfied with the information I've given?"

His eyes were closed the entire time while he absorbed the knowledge. She seemed confident enough with her answer, but it could always be a trap. Opening his eyes once more, he replied emotionlessly, "And do you have proof that you are indeed affiliated with these people you've listed?"

She breathed out and stared hard at her lap. "I _did_ have proof, but as I've said, my belongings were stolen-"

"A fine excuse, then-"

"But I _can_ describe the proof I had," she frowned at him and lowered her voice. He blinked and tilted his head, waiting for an answer. _Fine, fool, keep that disturbing and impolite expression on your face. I'll give you a reason to be impressed. _"It was a piece of paper that had a drawing of a woman we both know, Altair." Recognition flashed in his eyes, and Hildegard smiled from winning her little battle. "She was not looking straight ahead, but rather off to the distance, as if the illustrator was drawing her without her knowing. She wore a hood," Hildegard's hands trailed to her head while her eyes were looking up, trying to remember what she had seen, "and a cloak, and had the Templar emblem on her tunic," her hand trailed down to her chest, and then back to her side. "There was an oval surrounding the picture with roses drawn into it. I think we both know the artist behind the parchment, Altair."

"And you _lost_ this?" His voice was colder and his eyes narrowed.

"It was more like it was stolen from me."

"I see," he breathed out and rubbed his forehead. "It was once part of a collection of sorts that I had-"

"Yes, I'm familiar with it. It was scraps of paper stitched into a leather-bound booklet, correct?" He nodded slowly. "Whenever I would visit Maria, she'd often be flipping through the few pages. I tore the picture out of the book. Please forgive me for destroying your property." Her voice was sweet, yet her face held the devil's smirk on her lips.

He shook his head and changed the topic. "If this 'Order of the Rose' is not comfortable with the beliefs of Templars, but yet does not have the same beliefs as Assassins, then what are your beliefs?"

"Our beliefs?" She bit her lip and looked side to side, her smirk disappearing. "Well, we certainly do _not _believe that world domination is a way to create peace, that is for sure. We believe that men and women should have their own free will and learn to appreciate each other and live in harmony and _not_ by force, I guess you can say."

"You are saying you do not know?" He held an amused expression on his face from her answer not being entirely confident. _And so the bitch finally slips.._

"We aren't exactly an orthodox faction that has its rules written out and stamped, Altair. In fact, I suppose it is safe to say we are_ extremely _unorganized. Not all of us get along with each other, yet we cope. The only thing that binds us is the fact that we despise Templars."

'_A very weak organization, then. If need be, the Assassins can put it to rest. However...'_ He brought his hands down from his chin and rested them on his lap. "Hildegard, this is not something that I can easily believe. You should know this, since you too are part of a Brotherhood of some sorts." She nodded once. "But tell me, how is Maria?"

She laughed lightly and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. "How did I know that question was coming up? She's been better, Altair. _Much_ better." _And here comes the wedding. Augh, Hildegard..._

"But she is alive?"

"And slowly dying from missing you."

"I never figured her the type to mourn over a man."

She scoffed and frowned at him. "Fool, she _loved_ you. Still does, probably. But, there recently has been a problem-"  
"Why did she never come back, then?" he demanded. He averted his eyes and placed his left arm on the table, running his other hand over it almost lovingly as he stared at the gauntlet. Hildegard gulped, remembering the blade that had almost claimed her life.

"We did not allow her to leave," she finally sighed. He tented his eyebrows together, but did not look at her. One would have thought that he was disapproving of the craftsmanship put into the design of the blade had they not known the conversation. "She never told us about you. Two members of the Rose, Damiel and Benjamin, wrote a letter to her, asking her to return to England. That letter reached her in Acre the day after you two, ahh... _you know_." She rolled her eyes when he smirked. "She didn't know that they were asking her to permanently return, and so she thought a little visit wouldn't harm anyone. She figured that once she saw her friends again, she'd sail back to the Holy Land to be with you. However, that was not to be the case. I... I am mostly to blame for her absence in your life and vice versa." She sighed and wrung her wrists together. He raised both eyebrows, never looking away from his left arm. He felt a victorious feeling from having Hildegard crack and spill forth information. "I was so thrilled to see her again- we thought her dead for two or more years. And then, there she was, walking off the boat as if she'd been gone for no more than two weeks.

And seeing as I'm the fool that I am, I told her how everything was going to be so much better. I told her of the Rose and that she was part of it, I told her that she was needed in England." She stared at the desk and clenched her hands into fists. "I said so many things that hurt her that I had no idea about... I told her that there was no reason for her in the Holy Land anymore. I said... I said that there was nothing for her there. And when she gave birth to a dead baby boy..." She looked away and closed her eyes, the memory too painful for her to bear. "_I_ kept her away from you, and I am sorry."

Silence past between the two for several minutes until he looked up from his hidden blade and stared at the woman who was now resting her head in her hands and kneading her forehead. He was angry for the past year that she had left him. He was _still_ furious that she would just hop on a boat and never return. But the information he had learned over the weeks had begun to change his mind. She _had_ sent him letters, she _did_ miss him, she _did_ love him. She _wanted_ to come back, but she could not. And here was Hildegard, blaming it all on herself? Would an enemy break down in front of an Assassin and confess like she had just done? Not only that, but ribbons of pale blue flashed from her figure, only enhancing his trust. His sixth sense told him that she was not to be feared, but rather trusted.

He had missed Maria very much; her insults, her smile, her glares, her mockery, her body. He had neglected his own welfare just to mourn her absence, almost weeping from her not being in his life. He had remembered every moment he had spent with her; how they met in Jerusalem, how he kidnapped her in Acre to bring her to Cyprus, how he had brief conversations with her during their adventures in Cyprus, how she had led him to the Templar Archive, how they both escaped its collapsing walls, how they had sailed to India together but never reached the country, and how she had loved him in Acre. He relived all of his precious moments with her whenever he needed to, whenever he felt himself dying from not having her near him. She gave him part of his life that he had thought he had lost when Adha had died. She was the one who had made him human, who had shown him that even Assassins were allowed to love. He would always be grateful towards Maria for bringing love back into his life, as he would always love her. And if she had never received that letter from her comrades, she'd be with him presently with their baby boy. They'd be a family- be able to show the Assassins that even they deserved to love their children.

For a year, he had wanted to destroy the reason that she had left and never returned. He wanted to spill the blood of the person responsible and smile in satisfaction at seeing the blood stain his hands. He was not fond of vengeance, but he was a man that would settle a score and not run from a challenge.

And now, the reason was right in front of him, doing her best to not let the tears wetting her eyes spill forth. He licked his lips and barely whispered, "I believe you."

She looked up at him and swallowed a lump in her throat. "I wasn't expecting that.."

"But I do not forgive you."

"I expected that." She took in a shaky breath before asking, "And why didn't you go after her?"

The question did not catch him off guard. He'd been expecting this question ever since she arrived in Masyaf. "Her letters and my letters were burned, Hildegard. My letters never left Masyaf, and hers never reached me once they arrived here. I believed that she did not want to see me anymore, that I might have dishonored her."

"She didn't have much honor to begin with, Altair.."

"I know, and it was foolish of me to think that. But, also, business at Masyaf kept me from leaving. My Brothers and I have heard rumors of civilizations of great power rising, threatening to overshadow us. Armenia and its lesser Kingdom of Cilicia have become very... questionable over the year. King Levon I has been supporting the Crusaders, and with them, the Templars. The Rubenid's aren't exactly a dynasty we can trust, Hildegard."

"They are Templars?"

"We can only assume to be safe. If I was to leave Masyaf, and word spread that the leader of the Assassins was out looking for his woman, then they would attack. We can ward off armies, but we cannot ward off an entire country."

She rolled her eyes and groaned. _You are indeed a fool, Hildegard, for putting all the fault on this man._ "I wish we would have learned of this while in England. Maria would have surely understood-"

He closed his eyes and placed his forehead in his palm. "She... misses me, then?"

"Very much," Hildegard whispered. She smiled softly. "You know, for the first month she was away from the Holy Land, we'd hear her every day at noon sing from the top of the church we resided at." He opened his eyes and stared at her, completely stoic as she rambled on. "We would be walking outside, and we'd hear this voice. It was... so beautiful, so moving. I've never heard anything like it before. It was... so..." her voice trailed off as she fought to control the sobs that threatened to escape her lips.

"Forlorn?" he asked quietly. She nodded and looked at him. His face no longer possessed a dominant glare. It still told a story of much work and suffering, yet it was somewhat at peace. Strange how thinking of Maria made this man's core soften. "I've heard her sing once before," he said just as softly when she raised an eyebrow at him. "We'd just defeated Armand Bouchart in Cyprus. The people finally left their homes, no longer fearing what the Templars would do to them. I was looking for her, told her that we'd board the ship to India in an hour. I found her, surrounded by children wearing nothing but rags. She was kneeling down, smiling- something I thought she was incapable of doing- and... singing..."

Hildegard shook her head slowly, casting her eyes down. "Was it beautiful?"

"Entirely."

"What... what did it sound like?" She kept her mouth slightly parted as she noticed the pained expression on his face. Was this... was this the same man that she had seen less than a week before?

"Like rain. It was soothing, yet sounded as if she was missing something, or, someone. She sounded so..." He sighed and looked back at her. "Heartwrenching. You understand?" She mouthed the word 'yes' and sighed.

"Forgive me for accusing you, Altair. I- I had no right to do such a thing."

He blinked and slowly nodded. "Is there... anything else that Maria did?"

"She tried jumping in a cart of hay from the church once. Though, that didn't entirely work out, seeing as how we dragged her back inside right when she was about to take off." She smirked from the memory and he looked slightly amused. "I don't know much of Assassins, but I do know that they like to perform suicide acts such as-"

"Leap of Faith, Hildegard. We call it a Leap of Faith."

"Ahh, yes. Leaping into the Face of Death is what I shall call it, hmm?" she chuckled. However, she immediately sobered when she remembered a crucial part of why she made the trip to Masyaf. She straightened in her seat and stared at him, her eyes wide and holding a small amount of fear. He frowned and was about to ask, when she said, "There is also something else, Altair."

"And that would be?"

"The Rose has done its best to work in the shadows, however, it seems we were not careful enough. The Templars were plotting something right under our noses. I do not know if my comrades were successful evading the issue or falling right into their clutches." She took a deep breath, adding in, "Or, rather, if Maria fell into their clutches."

He immediately tensed in his seat, ready to spring into action. "_What do you mean?"_

"There are nine new Templars, Altair, to replace the ones that you murdered. One of them, a man known as Clarence, had arranged a... a _wedding_," she spat the word out as if it was the worst of curses, "specifically to unite his soul with Maria's."

He blinked and slowly settled back down, his muscles occasionally trembling in anticipation. "And was he successful?"

"I received the information while on the boat to the Middle East. All I know is that they were married two Fridays ago." She dug her nails into the chair and breathed in deeply. "But what I can tell you is that if they were successful, then the Templars are now twice as powerful as they were before. Maria isn't exactly a common woman. She owns her father's _and_ her uncle's wealth, and if she belongs to Clarence-"

"_She does not belong to him, even if they are married,"_ he hissed at her. His hands were balled up in tight fists, his knuckles turning white. "_How could your faction have let this happen to her? Do you not have proper conduct, scouts, informants-_"

"Please, let me finish. Clarence is stupid, though. He is full of self confidence and does not look a plan over twice. He is not the brains out of the new batch of Templars, to say the least. However, if the wedding was a disaster, then I can only assume that the Templars are tracking them and they are staying under cover. Altair," she rose from her seat, "my comrades do not know that I left to speak with you. They have no idea where I am or if I am dead or alive."

"I see." He breathed in deeply, his sudden concern vanishing. "I thank you for your time, Hildegard. You may go now."

She blinked and recoiled her head back. "_Excuse me?_ You're just going to dismiss me like that?" She waved her hand at him and crossed her arms, pursing her lips stubbornly. "I don't think so, _buddy_. I came all the way from England to have an audience with you, and you are _not_ just about to shoo me away while you tend to this matter." She frowned and wrinkled her nose, lowering her head as she did so. "If you're going to be finding information out about Maria's whereabouts, then _I_ will monitor you, understood?"

A completely unnerving and ruthless smile spread across the Master of Assassin's face. He cleared his throat, and called out, "Malik?" Just as the words escaped his lips, the one-armed man returned into the room and stood at attention. "Show our... _guest_... the room, hm?"

Malik slowly smiled and chuckled. "Do you mean _the_ room?"

"Indeed."

Hildegard slowly stood up, her body tense as the cripple casually made his way over to her, and then-

* * *

"_PUT ME DOWN, FIEND!_" She kicked and punched his back as he slung her over his good shoulder and carried her out of the room as if it was an everyday feat. "_HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME WITH SUCH DISREGARD! DAMN CRIPPLED FOOL, I SAID __**PUT ME DOWN!**__"_

Malik sighed and continued strolling through the halls of the fortress. The other Assassins stared at the two of them with perplexed stares. They glanced back and forth between their Brothers, and each one shrugged in return. Why there was a screaming European woman being hauled away by Malik, they had no idea. He grunted when the woman dug her nails into his neck, piercing his flesh and drawing blood. She raged on and on, her voice becoming louder and more desperate as new waves of energy came to her and commanded her to hurt the poor cripple. Finally, after they descended endless stairwells, he kicked open a door and all but threw the shrieking woman into the room.

"The Master wishes that you inhabit our wine cellar, _woman_," Malik sneered at her. He chuckled humorlessly as she tore away the hair clouding her vision and glared furiously at him.

"_After helping you and giving you valuable information,"_ she spat at him, "_and this is the courtesy that Assassins are capable of showing? Throwing a reliable source of information in their WINE CELLAR?"_

Malik looked unamused and shrugged his good shoulder. "I am but a loyal servant to the Master, Hildegard-"

"_GOD AND THE ANGELS DAMN THAT MAN!"_

"-I do as he wishes me to do. Please, do stop shouting. You will only ruin your already annoying voice." He blinked, then continued, "No, please do keep shouting, on second thought."

She was about to stand and punch the living Hell out of the man before her, but then she saw the one responsible for her predicament. _HIM..._

Altair stood a few feet behind Malik, a malicious smirk stretched across his mouth. "I do thank you for the information, Hildegard. Truly, you have the Leader of the Hashashin's _complete _gratitude," he said with a hint of sarcasm, giving her an exaggerated bow. "But, you must understand, the information that _I_ have given _you_ today cannot just simply walk away freely..."

She screeched furiously and flung herself at him. She would have succeeded had Malik not slam the heavy wooden door shut in her face. So, instead, Hildegard plummeted into the wood and gave yet another ear-splitting howl. Both men rubbed their foreheads from the sound as they retreated back to the library.

"I take it you've learned something of interest, Brother?" Malik finally gave a sigh of relief when they could no longer hear the woman in the cellar. Altair nodded and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Indeed. It seems that there are Templars on the move, Malik."

"And... do you believe any word that the woman has said of Maria?"

Altair smirked once more and closed his eyes. "It all seems like rubbish." Malik laughed and shook his head.

"You truly do know how to play pretend, don't you?"

"Isn't it what makes an Assassin an Assassin? To hide behind half truths and say one thing yet mean another completely?"

* * *

Damiel shook his head back and forth, looking at all the people swarming the streets of the town. Maria had just stabled their horses and was stretching her arms out, not impressed with what they saw. "Good grief, Ria! I've... I've never seen so many cloaks in my entire life! Look at 'em! There's blue, dark blue, light blue, medium blue, black, medium black, grey, light grey, medium grey... Whew, who'd of thought that so many colors even existed?" He chuckled and threw a light punch at her shoulder. She raised a bored eyebrow at him and rolled her eyes when he began hopping up and down excitedly. "Just... just look at 'em! White, medium white, dark white..." He frowned and turned the corners of his mouth down in question. "Maria, is there even such a thing as dark white?"

She sighed and wrapped a choking arm around his shoulders. "Now, listen, Damiel," she hissed in his ear, "I am going to give you freedom for two hours here. Understood? I have some-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa whoa whoa WHOA, back up, Maria. Hold the reins, pull 'em back." He shook her arm off of him and crossed his own arms over his chest, jutting his hip out as he did so. "You're gonna let me wander around here when there are Templars lookin' for us? Are you for real?" He frowned, then took a step closer to her. "You haven't been drinking, have-"

"That's exactly it, Damiel!" She smacked his cheek and growled at him. "Visit the tavern, see if you can learn any new information. You can go to the brothels for all I care, Damiel, we just need to know what's been happening while we've been travelling. You never know, perhaps there's a Templar agent here and we _might_ get lucky and intercept him if we pick up the pace. Do you understand, you gutless monkey, or need I repeat myself in different languages so that you may comprehend the meaning behind my words?"

He blinked, then smirked boyishly. "It'd be absolutely splendid if you- I mean, ahh..." He gulped when his friend held a dagger not even an inch from something extremely precious to the boy's future, should he ever choose to become a father. "I'll get right to it, Maria! Heh... heheh.." Damiel gave an uneasy smile before he ran full speed away from the woman. She smirked and sheathed the dagger back to the side of her boot before she too joined the cloaked citizens.

* * *

Damiel slowed his pace down to a casual walk. If there was indeed a Templar agent nearby, he wouldn't want to tip them off to his and Maria's presence. Damiel even went as far as to purchase a cloak from one of the vendors and pulled the garment on, securing the hood over his head. He sighed, feeling much better now that his identity was hidden by the cloth, and did as Maria told him to.

The tavern was a disgusting place, much like any bar. No, the entire town was a disgusting place. It resembled Acre slightly, with the gloomy grey sky and the lifeless colored bricks and houses. Puddles of sickening colors littered the streets, people stepping in them without much thought. Obviously, this settlement needed much work. A pity that the government was not showing much care. It had the potential of becoming a pleasant resort- if everyone would remove the cloak trend.

He swung the half-rotted door open and stood, slightly horrified at what he saw. Men of all ages, some even around his age, sat at creaky wooden tables with holes in them, helping themselves to ale and alcohol from moldy mugs. Women scantily dressed sat on their laps, cooing at them and the men practically burried their faces in their swelled and revealed breasts. Damiel gulped, wishing that Maria was with him to kick some sense into the drunks. What was worse was that everyone had their hood removed in the tavern. He prayed to Riva that no one would recognize him as he pulled down his own hood. He walked with the confidence of a snail and took a seat at a less crowded table, cringing when his bottom felt something wet and warm on the chair. He breathed in deeply, but regretted it when he smelled the aura of alcohol, sweat, and something that was perfume and urine combined. He closed his eyes, knowing _exactly_ what he had smelled. '_Sex... oh, just my luck...'_

He gave glances around the bar, refraining from scowling at what he saw. Honestly, did these men have no manners? Even he, a boy of nine and ten years, knew better than to stick his hand down _there_ or to put his lips on _that_, and, oh dear Lord, most certainly _not_ pull _that-_

Damiel looked up when a girl no more than twenty years came flocking over to him. It was apparent that this town was heavily influenced by the Christians and Europeans, seeing as how the locals were fair skinned and did not wear clothing relative to what the Arabs wore. The woman's rose blond hair was tied up, revealing a corset that was much too tight for her torso, however, it did a magnificent job emphasizing her voluptuous curves. He averted his eyes, lightly blushing from even looking.

"Anythin' I can get fer you, darlin'?" She reached out and ran her pale and petite hand across his cheek, tracing his smooth tanned skin. He gulped and stared hard at the table.

"One beer will do," he mumbled under his breath. His face twisted in frustration and agony from sitting in this filthy place for so long, and to add to his discomfort, he could feel the tavern girl's stare on him. She smirked, her painted red lips turning up seductively, had he been looking, and took a seat on his lap. He tensed, but did not say anything.

"Now, sweet, why look so... _virgin_?" She played with the curls on his head with her fingers and giggled in a most naughty fashion when he turned his head away. She took the opportunity to run her hands down his exposed neck, threatening to enter his tunic. "There's no need to be shy," she purred at him. He pursed his lips and balled his hands into fists. "You could be.." she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "_my _virgin_..."_

Damiel groaned from having her near him, and almost choked when he felt something warm and wet outline his ear. His hands gripped the table when he felt something wrap around his waist. He took his chances and turned his head around to glance at what the wench was doing. He felt sick to his stomach when he realized she had one leg around him, holding herself close to him as she rubbed a very important section of the female anatomy against his leg. He had no idea what to do, he'd never been in a situation like _this_ before! When he had told Maria that he would have liked the company of a couple of girls, he never meant _this_ type of girl! '_Oh, God, Maria, where are you...'_

"_Something wrong, my little prince?_" She licked his ear once more before taking it entirely into her mouth. She slid her hands down from his neck and into his shirt, feeling his toned chest. His breath hitched in his throat when he felt her fingers circle one of two sensitive areas of his chest, toying with the flesh. Damiel grimaced and closed his eyes. He reached out and tried shoving her off of him, but instead, she had grabbed his hand and placed it in a very soft and fleshy part of her anatomy. His eyes flew open and widened in shock and disgust at what he was touching- no, at what the girl was _making_ him touch. She moaned and trailed her lips across his cheek, licking the flesh as she did so. He shook his head and ground his teeth together.

"Miss, I am indeed a gentleman," he said hoarsely, "but if I need to remove a whore from my person, then I'd be obliged to." He narrowed his eyes at her and lowered his head, dark shadows being cast across his features. She looked at him through half-lidded, lust-crazed eyes as her mouth was nearing his. He heard deep laughter, and it took him a few moments to realize that it was coming from his head. He knew that voice all too well.

_Aden.. laughing at him..._

"_Get. Off. You. Bitch,"_ Damiel growled at her as he grabbed her throat and threw her to the ground. She squealed and looked absolutely shocked at his behavior. Several of the other drunk men looked at the two of them, but then turned their attention back to their own drinks and the whores on their laps. Damiel smirked at her and glared viciously. "Oh, and, my beer, if you will." He pulled out a silver coin from his pocket and threw it at the girl. She quickly pocketed the money between her breasts and hurried off to help him to his request.

He sighed and readjusted his tunic, tying the collar shut. The tavern girl quickly returned, if a bit hesitantly, with his beverage and quickly scurried away once she placed the mug on the table. He stared at the mug, completely repulsed by the color of the beer and the fact that there were some peculiar things floating in it. He shrugged, and took careful sips.

"That was quite a show ye put on there, boy." Damiel's head immediately snapped straight up from hearing the voice. A man with long, stringy greasy hair sat down next to him, his clothes torn and ripped covered in dirt and sweat. He smelled absolutely ghastly, yet the boy did not respond to the stench. He averted his gaze back to his mug and took a gulp of the drink. It tasted God awful.

The man watched Damiel carefully, his gaunt and greasy face looking over his every feature. "What's a virgin like ye doin' in a place like this?" Damiel remained silent as he drank from his mug. The man let off a hoot of laughter, exposing gums that were missing several teeth, and slapped his knee. "Ahh, the ol' quiet type, eh? Pretty boys like ye shouldn't be here, ye know. Them tavern girls can be a real somethin' when a virgin like ye steps foot in 'ere."

Damiel grunted and continued with his beer. The man watched him as he sipped the liquid. "Ye know, 'aven't really seen anyone quite 'ike you 'ere before. What's yer name?"

The foreign nine and ten year old boy closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows at the question. He remained silent. The man slowly nodded. He scratched his crotch, then continued, "Look 'ere, boy, if ye want ta survive this town, yer gonna be needin' my help." He sighed, his smelly breath reaching Damiel's nose. He cringed and drank the last of his beer.

"I do not need your help," he finally said. The man laughed once more. Damiel glanced at him and almost barfed the beer back into the mug when he saw the man's yellowed and rotten remaining teeth. He hadn't seen teeth in such condition since he'd been a slave.

"A'ight, a'ight, I understand. Yer the 'independent' kind, as well. Look, I'll leave ye be if ye can do somethin' fer me." He pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket that was stained with something Damiel did not want to know, and also pulled out a quill and vial of ink from his cloak. "Now, don't ye be pickin' at me, ye virgin, but I was never taught how to write. And ye see, I'm meetin my dear betrothed, and I gotta tell 'er where I'll be at. So, could ye write fer me?"

Damiel sighed, but agreed. "Now, 'ere's what ye gonna say..."

_Dear M,_

_Meet me at the place you hate yet loved the most._

_-D._

Damiel reread what he just wrote and frowned, but the paper was quickly snatched from him by the man. "Thank ye, boy, ye've done me a great deed t'day. Now, here's yer tip." The man spat in his hand and wiped it on the back of the boy's neck. Damiel winced and breathed out in anger from the insult, ready to punch the fool that dared to smear his saliva on him, but decided against it. Starting a brawl, which was clearly what he wanted, was most certainly unwise. And seeing as how his pride had plummeted in the last hour, he let the man walk away without raising any objection. Damiel's eyes narrowed when he saw the man hand the letter to another, yet this man had his hood up. _How strange..._ Pah, at least the man had finally left him alone.

Damiel sighed and removed himself from the table and walked out of the tavern. He pulled his hood over his head once more. Hopefully Maria had discovered something worth while.

* * *

He walked along the streets of the town, his hands shoved into his britches. It was disgusting, everything was. The people, the buildings, the cobblestones, all of it. Even the food that was being served from vendors was sickening.

'_I can't believe that actually happened to me... what kind of place is the world turning into?'_ Damiel sighed and trudged on, doing his best to not step in anything questionable. True, London had its share of false features, but this... this was beyond anything he had ever seen before. Well, besides Talal's slavehouse and seeing his own blood spill forth and litter the floor when his masters whipped him for not living up to his contract.

He brushed past a group of cloaked men and turned his head to glance in the direction of an alleyway. From what he could see, there was a ladder- _perfect! Freedom from the filth!_ But what he could also see what disturbing, to say the least. The sounds of a man and woman moaning and the latter whining caused Damiel to close his eyes. '_Absolutely unacceptable. Do these people NOT know standard conduct?'_

Damiel braced himself and walked hastily through the alley. He didn't look at the couple becoming intimate as he climbed up the ladder and hoisted himself on the roof. He tugged his hood off and lowered his head. The view was terrible though. It only further enhanced his dislike toward the town and caused him to scowl and grimace. Just terrible.

He jogged across the length of the roof and leapt the distance to another rooftop. He repeated this process, searching for Maria. He might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack. Everyone looked alike- all cloaks, no distinguishable figures. He groaned in frustration and was about to give up his search, had he not heard a voice call up to him.

"_Hey, lost soul! Down here!"_ Damiel frowned and blinked. Did he just hear that, or was he going mad? It sounded so much like her.

"_FROTHLESS TANKARD OF BEER SPEWING YEAST! I SAID, __**DOWN HERE!**__"_ Yes, there was no mistaking it. Damiel peered over the edge and almost jumped in joy.

"_Maria!_ I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

"Likewise. Now, please, remove yourself from the roof so that I do not have to attempt and fail at climbing up there. I really am not in the mood in humiliating myself, Damiel." She smirked at him from underneath the hood, and he quickly climbed down the wall and was standing in front of her in a matter of seconds. "Ahh, so he still can climb like the monkey he is! Good. You'll be needing those skills for what I've to tell you." She grabbed his hood and pulled it back over his head. She made disapproving clicking sounds with her tongue.

"You find something out?"

"More than you did, I assure you." She smirked at him and motioned for him to start walking. He smiled and walked parallel to her as she spoke. "It appears that I _was_ correct. There _is_ an agent here, after all. And, thanks to my cunning skills and keen eye, I have managed to spot a pigeon coop not far from here. The trick is," she paused and took him by the arm and gently led him away from the center of the street, for there were grumpy drunkards barreling their way throughout the town, "it's guarded and it's too high for my limited abilities."

Damiel smirked and chuckled. "I assume you want me to get up there and retrieve the letter for you?"

"Oh, very good, Damiel, when did you become so sharp?" She rolled her eyes and made an annoying sound with the back of her throat before walking into a courtyard filled with more cloaked townspeople. "Now, Damiel, you see that tower up there?" She nodded her head in the direction. He looked up and his eyes practically shot out of his head. "Good, you see it. I need you to climb-"

"I've climbed plenty of structures, Ria, but..." He gulped and gave her a pleading look. "That's a little too high for my standards..."

She clicked her tongue and looked at the dirty cobblestones. "Oh, what a pity. I thought for sure that you were capable of completing something so... _mundane_." She sighed dramatically. "I suppose a simple task of climbing a tower is out of your league, isn't it, Damiel?"

He shook with anger and shoved his way past her, grumbling under his breath, "_I'll get you that damn letter..."_ Maria smirked and chuckled to herself as she watched him push people out of his way to reach the roof of the courtyard. They stared at him in shock as he scrambled up the wall, gripping the loose stones, and pulled himself onto the roof. He snorted in fury and ran from roof to roof to reach the tower. His companion merely closed her eyes and took a seat on one of the nearby benches. Oh, how easy it was to get Damiel to obey.

* * *

Damiel eyed the tower, sizing it up. He stood at the base of it from where it was joined with another roof. It seemed much, _much_ taller than when he was looking at it from on the ground. He gulped and shook his head. He'd gone too far to return to Maria with his tail between his legs. He would _not_ prove himself a failure- not after what had happened in the tavern. He braced himself, tensed his muscles, and began the climb. It wasn't easy, for he had to stop many times to better his grip and figure out how to maneuver across the wall. It wasn't like the tower he had climbed in Jaffa. That structure had many loose footholds and bricks sticking out. It seemed the Devil himself had created this _pedazo de mierda _he was climbing. He almost shouted in relief when he reached one of the tower's balconies, but quickly became one with the tower when he heard voices.

'_So, Maria was right. There ARE guards up here...'_ He flexed his shoulders, glad that Riva was strapped to his back. At least if he ended up in a fight, he'd have a way to protect himself. Damiel scaled the tower and gripped the balcony's fence. He pumped his muscles with energy and lifted himself halfway up. He could make out a man's boots walking away from the balcony. Deeming it safe, the boy pulled himself up and over the balcony, unsheathing Riva and silently stalking the guard. With one clean swipe, his throat was sliced and blood stained the floor as he was gently lowered down to it. Damiel frowned when he realized that it wasn't just a tower. No, it was part of a rampart that was the perimeter of the town. He sighed, wishing Maria would have told him so. That meant there were many, _many_ guards on patrol- archers, to be exact.

'_I hate archers...'_

He bit his lower lip and continued his ascent up the tower.

* * *

Maria sat on the bench, impatiently twitching her leg that was crossed over the other. There were two other people on either side of her that smelled terrible. '_What is WRONG with this place? I've seen Poor Districts that are in better condition than this! What a disappointment...'_ She sighed and kept glancing about. It'd been almost a half an hour- Damiel should have been back by now. What was taking the damn boy so long? She grumbled underneath her breath and closed her eyes, yet was still aware of her entire surroundings. She didn't _dare_ fall asleep in such a place.

* * *

"_John! You imbecile! You toothless hound! GIVE ME BACK MY DOLL!" Maria raced throughout the townsquare of Canterbury, chasing her cousin. He laughed over his shoulder, the six year old taking pleasure from causing his relative such distress. She pouted as she pelted down the slick streets of England. It had just stopped raining, a slight drizzle taking the place of the thunderstorm, and the first thing the children had done was bolt out the door of Xavier Thorpe's residence and enjoy the outdoors. Maria was innocently playing with one of her dolls that just so happened to be a knight. She was sitting underneath one of the trees of the property, minding her own business, not causing any harm whatsoever, and then John happened._

_John, her annoying cousin._

_"Can't catch me, Maria!"_

"_You better hope I don't! I'll kick your face off, you dumb boy!" She huffed and shrieked when she slipped on the slippery stones, flying face first into the street. She groaned and felt her cheek. Holding her hand out in front of her face, she bit her lower lip as blood smeared her skin. Her mouth trembled and her cousin was nowhere to be seen. She sat on the cold, damp street, the cobblestones soaking her clothes. Tears oozed their way from her eyes and down her face, her lips giving way and sobs escaping her mouth. She didn't know how long she sat there, crying, until she saw a man's boots standing right in front of her._

_She looked up at the man clad in all white, his hood pulled down, his dark brown hair lightly sprinkled with the drizzle. His blue eyes stared at her grey ones. He was worried, she could tell that. "D-Davy?" she squeaked. He knelt down and scooped her petite figure up in his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, crying into him. He didn't say anything, but from the way he was breathing heavily, she knew that John was going to get it from him. And oh, was he going to get it BAD._

* * *

"_Jonathan Xavier Thorpe! YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO BRING YOUR SORRY BEHIND DOWN THESE STAIRS **IMMEDIATELY**!" David Thorpe stood at the base of the stairs, his sister Sarah wrapped up in thick towels in the parlor. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl set on his face. Very rarely did David ever raise his voice. He was the quiet one in Canterbury, and quite the charmer. He was known by the ladies of England as 'do you mean, David _Thorpe_?', as if he was some sort of god. True, he was very polite to the women and knew how to twist his words to have their hearts flutter in desire, but there was already one particular lady he had his eyes set on._

_Slowly, Jonathan tiptoed down the stairs, his head hung low in guilt. He soon stood next to his older brother, his shoulders hunched and looked down. He glanced side to side at the floor, squirming from being under his brother's gaze for so long. Usually, whenever he had to scold them, he'd just frown and tell them never to do it again. Of course, they never listened, and sometimes they even had to sew blankets, and MANY times he had picked his fingers. And then there was Maria, who NEVER poked herself with a needle._

_"Jonathan. Xavier. Thorpe," he repeated. "Do you know what you've done wrong, young man?"_

_"No," John mumbled. He gulped when his brother raised his voice._

_"Look at me when speaking to me, Johnathan." And so, slowly, very, very slowly, Jonathan lifted his head up and cowered when he saw his brother's icy blue eyes glare furiously at him. "Do you know what you've done wrong?" he slowly repeated._

_"No, Davy," he answered with a shaking voice._

_"'No'? You are telling me that you do not know what you did wrong?" He narrowed his eyes and grabbed his brother by the arm, yanking him into the parlor. "Perhaps looking at your cousin will tell you! John, you left her outside all alone!"_

"_It was just a game, though! I've taken her doll from her before, and you've never yelled at me because of that!"_

_"Have you ever left your cousin outside in the freezing cold rain alone?"_

_"N-no-"_

_"Did you ever PURPOSELY abandon her outside?"_

_"N-no, Davy-!"_

_"Have I ever found her in such a condition? Crying her eyes out with a bleeding cheek?"_

_"N-no..." John shrank from each accusation and his lower lip began to shake._

_"John, if I didn't find her, Maria could have been still out there! Do you understand how serious this is? What if someone else was to find her? What if that person wasn't nice like I am? What if he took Maria home with him, took her clothes off-"_

_"That is quite enough, David." Both of the boys looked up and David gave an embarrassed bow with his head. It was never a good sign when Father disapproved of the eldest's actions. "I believe John has learned his lesson, son." Xavier Thorpe stood in the doorway of the parlor, his wife Emily at his side. John immediately ran to his mother and buried himself in her skirts, bawling his eyes out. Maria waddled her way over to her aunt with her towels wrapped around her like a pancho and shawl combined and did the same. Emily Thorpe wrapped both of her arms around the children, leading them into the kitchen where she would prepare a meal to quiet them down._

_Xavier sighed when he and his oldest son were the only two left in the parlor._

_"Father, I can expl-"_

_"David Abel Thorpe," Xavier sighed. "How many years do you have on you?"_

_"Six and ten, Fath-"_

_"How many years of training have you received?"_

_"Six, Fath-"_

_"How old are Maria and John?"_

_"Six years, Fath-"_

_"Do you think John would understand what could have possibly happened to Maria?"_

_David sighed and closed his eyes. "No, Father."_

_"Son," Xavier put an arm around his boy's neck and sat him down on one of the couches. "They are still very, very young yet. I am just as upset as you are on the matter, I truly am. But they're still children. They will make mistakes, hurt each other's feelings, and then act like nothing happened five minutes later and go back to scheming ways to torture the neighbor's cat or... whatever it is they do."_

_"I am sorry, Father, I... I was scared." David looked down at the rug and frowned in guilt._

_"Never let your emotions show on the outside," Xavier said to his son, looking at his face. They had the same hair, the same eyes, while his son had Emily's nose and soft features._

_"For such a thing makes you vulnerable and weak," David finished. His father shook his head and clicked his tongue. David looked up and raised his eyebrow in question._

_"For your brother and sister will never understand what it is you are showing to them." Xavier slowly smiled and nudged his son. "Come, Emily's probably preparing biscuits for the two troublemakers as we speak," he stood up from the couch along with his son, "and I would hate to miss your mother's cooking. Lord knows that that woman has a talent with the range."_

_David smiled and walked into the kitchen where John and Maria were giggling together, the towels now wrapped around both of them. His mother was just setting another tray of biscuits down on the counter. The little monsters had already gobbled the first tray up! And in how many minutes?_

_"Daddy?" John asked from his place at the table. He and Maria were small enough to fit in one chair together, and that was exactly what they were doing. His father looked over at him and chuckled when he saw the crumbs around his son's face. "What'sa temperature?"_

_Xavier frowned from the question and looked at his wife for support. She shrugged and looked at Maria who was rolling her eyes. "He means a Templar. Uncle, what's a Templar?"_

_He was shocked from hearing her say the word- he didn't even know she knew that word! He and David exchanged worries glances, yet they composed themselves. Yet, it was the son that was able to speak first. "Ahh, I take it you two have been paying Doctor Foo more night visits lately?"_

_Emily laughed and took a seat next to Maria and John. The former immediately hopped down from the chair and found a new seat on her aunt's lap. Xavier looked at the two of them with regret in his eyes. Emily's long, wavy black hair matched the little girl's hair so well- even their eyes were identical. Emily looked at her husband, sadly smiling at him, knowing what very well should have been hers as her arms wrapped protectively around Maria. The girl made no complaint and snuggled further into her aunt's warm embrace._

_"Weeeell?" John whined. He pouted and leaned his head in his palm impatiently. "What'sa Templar?"_

_Xavier nodded and sat down next to his son. "A Templar is... a Knight, Johnny."_

_"Like the ones we read in books?"_

_"Is that what Doctor Foo's been teaching you?" David laughed and ruffled his brother's hair. John squirmed from the gesture but kept a smile on his face. Maria giggled as David lightly squeezed her cousin's nose. John squealed and ran from the chair, only to be caught by his father. The man tickled his son, earning more laughter and squealing from the boy. Maria pointed and laughed at John, sneering at him. David glanced briefly at his mother, both of them holding the same look in their eyes. Soon, just like John, Maria was being held by an adult, having her sides poked at and tickled._

_And soon after that, both children were sound asleep, being carried upstairs to their bedroom by man and wife, David having gone out to the barn to check on the animals._

_Xavier opened John's bedroom door, said boy's arms wrapped around tightly his father's neck as his face rested on his shoulder in deep slumber. Maria was being carried by her Aunt Emily, the woman rubbing the girl's back as she held onto the girl in the same fashion that Xavier held onto John. They quietly stepped into the room and Xavier lowered John gently down on the bed. The boy squirmed, but soon settled down as his father tucked the sheets around his son and gave his forehead a soft kiss. He turned to his wife, only to see her still holding onto Maria. Her eyes were watery and nose red, the tears obviously there yet refusing to show. Xavier sighed and gave his wife a knowing gaze._

_"Emily..."_

_"It isn't fair, Xavier," she said, tilting her chin down to stare at the child in her arms. "Why can she not stay with us, where she belongs?"_

_The man gave a small smile and gently brushed his hand along his wife's cheek. "Emily, I know what you feel- I believe she too should live with us-"_

_"Your brother is a horrible man, Xavier. Every time she comes to visit us, there is a new scar on her body." A tear silently rolled down her cheek, only to be thumbed away from her husband. "How much more do you think we can take?"_

_He gently pried Maria out of his wife's grip, aware that the woman was extremely reluctant to let the child go. The girl's arms instinctively wrapped around her uncle, but soon loosened their hold as he softly laid her out next to John's sleeping form. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead before turning back to his wife. "I know, love, I know," he whispered. She had her arms wrapped around her while she bit her bottom lip. Xavier Thorpe took the few steps separating himself from his partner and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest while more tears spilled forth. "Shh, shh..." he whispered. She nodded once and pulled away from him._

"_My crying will wake them up," she said softly as she wiped her hand across her face. She walked out of their bedroom, Xavier following and shutting the door behind him. She made her way to their own bedroom and stopped once she was standing in the middle of the room. She crossed her arms once more and slowly turned around to look at her husband. "Xavier..."_

_"Please, Emily," he stroked her cheek once more and brought his mouth to her forehead, giving her a lingering kiss. "Please, love, try to at least enjoy her company while she is still here with us." He nuzzled her cheek with his own and pulled her to himself once more. "And be thankful that she is nothing like Alan."_

_Emily nodded and buried her head in his shoulder. "Every day, Xavier, I hate myself more and more.."_

_He ran his left hand up and down her neck, reminding her of exactly what she decided to marry. "Do not say such things, love. What happened was not your fault, we've been over this. Be glad that Maria is healthy and happy when she visits. Be happy that she and John get along so well," he murmured into her ear. "Things could have ended a lot worse than they already have, love. Try to appreciate what you have, Emily- for Sarah's sake." He turned his head to the side as she did the same. He kissed her lips gently, knowing the pain that she went through every time she saw Sarah Thorpe._

* * *

"_HEY! What do you think YOU'RE doing, boy?"_ Damiel gasped when he felt arms wrap around his waist from behind him, pulling him back down to the balcony. He had just resumed his climb when he heard the voice of an angry guard.

The boy fell to the floor on his back, Riva digging into his spine. He quickly scrabbled back onto his feet and would have been successful in unsheathing Riva, but the guard threw a punch to the boy's jaw, the impact causing him to stagger backwards. Damiel blinked away the lights dancing across his vision and clenched his hand into a fist, ready to retaliate and mimic the guard's attack. However, he let out an _oof!_ when he felt the guard's foot connect with his groin. The boy bit back the pain and threw himself at the man, sending them both to the ground. They rolled around, each fighting for dominance, until Damiel felt new pairs of hands lift him off of the guard. More archers had come to the aid of their comrade. Two of the men held the nine and ten year old boy by both of his arms. Damiel whipped and turned his body around side to side, screeching like a rabid animal while trying to free himself of the men. He violently tugged at his arms, but they held on with renewed strength. The two men held onto him while the third dealt blow after blow to his stomach.

Spit flew out of his mouth as each punch connected with his ribs. He groaned and his knees gave way, slinking to the ground. The guard that had previously assaulted him stood off to the side, smirking. "Well, boys, what 'ave we here?" He grabbed a handful of the boy's curls and pulled his face up to look him in the eyes. Damiel bared his teeth at the man and growled not only at him but from the pain. "Looks like the boy the Boss has been looking for, don't he?"

The other men gave murmurs of agreement, nodding their heads. The guard held an amused expression from the boy's useless act of fearlessness and backhanded him across the cheek. More saliva sputtered out of his mouth, as well as blood, and dripped onto the floor. "Boss was right. He certainly doesn't _look_ like he belongs in England." The man knelt down in front of Damiel and sneered at him. "What's a mutt like you going out and about and defiling the Templars?"

Damiel pursed his lips and spat in the man's face, smiling when he staggered and almost fell on his bottom. He wiped his face with his hand and smacked the boy once more. "_You shit of a halfbreed! I'll teach you respect-!"_

"That's enough, Boris. I believe my men can take it from here." A new figure with a band of men trailing behind him approached the group of guards and their captive. He was a stout and short man with a face that reminded Damiel of a rat. He glanced side to side nervously, like he was expecting an attack. "Ahh, Damiel, so good to see you- and in one piece. _Splendid..._" He curled his lip disgustingly, his eyes shining brightly with bloodlust. Damiel squirmed and tried to shake himself out of the men's grasp, but he was quickly rewarded with a swift kick to the middle of his pelvis for his efforts. He groaned and hung his head low, his eyes shut tight.

The new man chuckled and gave a jerk of his head to his men. They immediately grabbed hold of Damiel and dragged him through the balcony's door and made their way down the tower. "You know, _Damiel_," the man began as they descended the stairs, "I consider this an honor that I was able to capture you. You, the pitiful _dog_ that serves that bitch Maria Thorpe."

* * *

Maria rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself stubbornly. _Damn that boy! Where in bloody oblivion was he?_ She was about to stand up from the bench and begin a search-and-lecture party, but a group of men wearing cloaks made their way past her. Of course, they looked like just about everyone else in the town, but their hoods were down, revealing freshly shaved heads and frantic eyes searching the crowd, as if they were looking for someone. She frowned, her own hood secured over her head. _Peculiar..._

Her eyes searched their figures, looking for something that identified them. Perhaps they were the guards? If so, they were doing a poor job of keeping the peace within the settlement. _Just look at all the drunks walking about and the feces decorating the ground!_

Two of the men stopped right in front of the bench that she was sitting at, their sides turned towards her. "She isn't here, I told ye that an hour ago!"

"Doesn't hurt to check again, eh? Besides, wasn't she spotted with that mangy hound?"

The other man chuckled and waved his hand in amusement. "Ye mean that foreign boy? The one pretendin' ta be an Englishman?"

"Yeh, that's the one! Him! Didn't she come in with him?"  
"Aye, and our other men 'ave foun' him, too. Found him in the south tower, they did. From what I've heard from the others, he put up quite a fight, that one did." He laughed and shook his head.

"I s'pose this means that our job 'ere is done, then? Afta all, we we' only meant ta capture one of them-"

"Think about how the Boss would reward us, though, if we we' ta capture the lass!" Both men nodded their heads from the thought and chuckled. "Perhaps he'd even let us get a bit of a... _taste_ of 'er, eh?"

Maria's eyes widened from eavesdropping on the men. They... they captured Damiel? But, how? Yes, the tower was guarded, but only by two men! How could he have been captured? He had Riva on his person when he took off, and Damiel wasn't one to show mercy when cornered. She narrowed her eyes when she saw a ring with a cross etched into it on one both of the men's ring fingers. _Templars... God damn you to the deepest pits of Hell where you'll both rot until the day you die._ She bit her lip and waited until the two guards had left to leave the bench and wander the streets. _This isn't good... This isn't good at all... What the Hell am I going to do?_

She walked on and on, brushing past other cloaked figures until she came across a group of men carrying what seemed to be a bundle in their arms. She squinted and almost gasped in shock when she realized the bloody package was a _human_- and not just _any_ human, but _Damiel!_ His eyes were closed, his entire body limp. So much blood...

Ten, eleven, twelve- there was _no way_ she could handle all of them, and it looked like they were set on their mission. Maria bit her lip in frustration and her fists shook violently. She had no idea where they were taking him, or what they'd do to him, but she knew what she had to do.

She had to continue onto Acre without him.

* * *

"_DAMN ASSASSINS!"_ Hildegard screamed as she kicked each shelf containing wine and threw her fists as the wall. "_STUPID, FUCKING ASSASSINS!_" She cried out in agony and frustration, ripping at her hair and falling to her knees. "_I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!_" She sobbed and wrapped her arms around herself; her last attempt to hold onto her sanity. "And now... now Maria's going to pay for what I've done..." She whined and crawled to the darkest corner of the cellar and held her knees to her chest as she rocked back and forth. "You try to do something nice, Hildegard, and it ends up biting you in the ass and throwing you into a wine cellar. _Damn the male species!_"

She buried her head in her knees and let the helpless tears escape her eyes, no longer caring about pride or behavior. If _they_ were not going to treat her like a lady, then she would most certainly not act like one! If she had to throw every last bottle of wine at the door in an attempt to break it down, then she would. And the Lord knew how many bottles the Assassins kept. "Stupid, drunk men..."

"That man probably didn't even believe me... May his penis melt off his body and may breasts develop on him. I can't believe this! Why... why is it so difficult to accomplish anything in the world?" She sniffed and pouted into her legs. "Assassins... all they're good at is lying. He didn't even know... didn't even know what Maria said about him- what she told me. 'Oh, Hildegard, he's a very quiet man, doesn't talk too much. He seems cold-hearted, but there's a person deep down underneath the Assassin robes. There's actually a human being in there and a warm heart.' _Donkey piss, Maria! DONKEY PISS!_"

* * *

Altair watched silently as the birds flew out from the grand window of the Masyaf fortress. He had sent a letter to each of the bureau leaders of Acre, Jerusalem, and Damascus to keep a sharp eye out for Templars. They were here in the Holy Land, he knew it. And if they intruded further, they'd threaten the Assassins' goals and ways of life. They had to be put to an end.

He made his way to his bedchambers and sat on the foot of his bed, throwing his head into his hands. What was he going to do? He had told Malik that he thought Hildegard's words to be filth, but he _believed_ that filth! And now the woman didn't trust him- again. He couldn't go to her to speak about Maria. Hildegard was the only person who was able to give him information on his beloved, and now he had her thrown in the cellar. '_It could have been worse. I could have thrown her in the waste pit.'_ He chuckled humorlessly at the thought of seeing the woman sprawl about and flail her arms as she struggled to remove herself from body wastes.

He threw his robe to the side, kicked his boots off from his feet, and shrugged out of his kameez, leaving him only in his shalwars. He sighed and flexed his muscles. He had made a mess of things, he knew that. He also knew that if what Hildegard spoke was true, then Maria was in grave danger. If she was married to this 'Clarence', then he would personally make sure that the man's testicles and penis were _thoroughly_ removed- after Bayo was done chomping down on it. He swore that if that, that _filth_ touched _his_ Maria, he'd have each of his finger and toenails ripped off of him, his eyelashes plucked, his ears sliced off, wood wedged so far up his ass that he would never be allowed to relieve himself again-

A violent smirk played over his lips, deepening and becoming terrifying each passing second. He would love to teach that man who Maria rightfully belonged to, and most certainly not _him_. Maria Thorpe belonged to one man, and _only_ one man: Altair Ibn-La'Ahad.

But, if she was not bound to that man, then what would he do? 'She was in hiding' is what Hildegard had told him. He'd be able to find her, given the chance. But what if he was _never_ given the chance? Armenia was rising to power, the King clearly showing signs of corrupt leadership. And now, nine new Templars to replace the ones he killed. Nine out of the ten...

What would he do with Hildegard, to be exact? He couldn't keep her in the wine cellar forever. She'd go insane, and even though she was downright barbaric, she was an innocent. If she lost her sanity because of him, he'd be violating the Creed, and he was _not_ in the mood to demote himself. But he couldn't just let her leave Masyaf, no no. It was much too risky. She knew his face, his concerns, where the fortress was and its darkest secrets... He could not become dependant on her, it'd only weaken the Brotherhood. If he had to keep her within the walls of Masyaf until she breathed her very last breath, he'd do so. Or, she could conveniently fall from the castle and conveniently fall into a pile of sharp rocks...

He shook his head. No, he couldn't kill her. He had to keep the madwoman alive. If not for him, then he'd do it for Maria. She had claimed she and his lover were the best of friends, as he and Malik had a brotherly bond. If Maria was to ever walk back into his life, she'd gut him, skewer him, and roast him over a pit of fire, creating an Altair-kebab. She'd probably throw Malik in there as well just for the fun of it and make Malik-kibbeh.

'_Ahh, Maria, why must you be such a tigress?'_ But he wouldn't want his woman any other way. A little bit of passion, some attitude problems, a whole pile of pride and ferocity, plenty of brains, and of course, beauty. Yes, she was more than qualified to be his partner for life.

He breathed out and let his back hit the bed as he curled up in the sheets, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to him. He wished dearly that it was her.

* * *

"_You damn Assassin! You're bleeding and you won't let me bandage your wound?"_

_"It's just a scratch- I can handle myself, Maria!"_

_"Oh, I'll believe THAT when I see it! You constantly need me walking behind you and picking up after you, protecting your lazy ass!"_

_"How can you accuse me of something such as that? Who was the one who killed the Templars imprisoning YOU?"_

_"I could have dealt with them on my own!"_

_"Oh, yes, Maria, of COURSE. Because, from what I can see, you're waiting for Prince Charming to come on his fiery steed and save you from-"_

_"I WILL RIP YOUR TONGUE OUT AND HANG YOU FROM YOUR TOES IF YOU DO NOT SILENCE YOURSELF!"_

_"I'd like to see you even try."_

* * *

Maria galloped throughout the kingdom on her horse. She was only one day from reaching Acre- another day added to how far away she was from her comrades. She clung to the horse, her body crouched low against the saddle, and shook her head furiously. '_How did this all happen? How COULD this all happen? Damned bloody Templars...'_ She gripped the reins tighter, urging the horse faster and faster. She would have to be strong for her friends and for the sake of the Rose. She was their last hope now and she'd find the allies Benjamin spoke of even if it meant travelling through Hell and back.

She would _never_ abandon her friends.

* * *

Translations:

_Magnífico = _magnificent

_Pedazo de mierda =_ piece of shit


	14. Chapter 10, Part 2

Hildegard paced back and forth in the cellar, her arms crossed around her. There had to be a way out of there, there just had to be- especially after she threw bottle after bottle at the door.

"Hmmm..." Hildegard cupped her chin in her hand, standing a good 10 feet from the door. "The structure is in poor condition," she mused. The wine had soaked the wood, softening it. She walked over and examined its condition. "Perhaps I can break out by ramming into the wall..." She smacked it with her palm a few times and shook her head. '_No, that won't work...'_

She resumed pacing to and fro, scheming up ways to free herself. '_The fate of the Rose is in my hands... The fate of seven people plus a dog. Oh, dear God, why must everything always come down to me? Maria, if I ever see you again, I will light your buttocks on fire and take pleasure from seeing you scramble about in search of water! Hmph!'_

But then, the idea blossomed in her brain. Hildegard paused, brought her thumb to her mouth and bit the tip of it, slowly nodding her head as she agreed to her own thoughts. Shrugging, she said to thin air, "Well, it's worth a try." She trotted over to the door and cleared her throat with one hand to her chest. She took a deep breath and-

"FIRE! _FIRE!_ LET ME _OUT!_" She bounced up and down frantically, her boots echoing off of the floor. She screamed the phrase over and over again, banging on the door as she did so. After what seemed an eternity, she heard footsteps making their way toward her. '_Ahh, so Assassins really are fools!'_ She beamed and assaulted the door once more. "FIRE-"

"Enough, enough, I heard you the first time. In fact, I think the entire fortress heard you."

Hildegard felt her insides shrivel from the man in front of her. What was his name? Ah, yes, it was Malik. He opened the door, his face weary and worn. "Honest to Allah himself, woman, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"How can I when there are no windows in this damn room?" She glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I _demand_ to be let out this instant!"

"That is exactly why I've come to retrieve you, woman." He blinked and looked completely unentertained from her stubbornness. "The Master wishes to speak with you again."

She gawked and shook her head vigorously. "_Excuse me?_ You think you can shove me in a cellar and determine when you want to _speak with me_? I'm sorry, _cripple_, but I refuse to speak with men that think me such a woman! _Hmph!_" She whipped around and showed her back to him, her head raised high. "You can tell your _Master_ that if he wishes an audience with me, he can come down here himself and talk, _dog_." She smirked when she heard him take in a quick angry breath.

Malik rolled his eyes and frowned. Why must everything be so difficult for the poor cripple? "I was afraid it'd come to this..."

She turned around and took a cautious step back. "Come to what..?"

"Alright, Brothers, she's all yours," he said as he took a step away from the door. In his place, several other Assassins with grey hoods covering their faces were standing in the doorway, making their way over to the blonde woman. She shook her head and walked through the small cluster of men, shouldering them out of her way. She stood in front of Malik, scowling at the man.

"I do not need more inappropriate treatment from the men in this God forsaken fortress," she spat at him. He chuckled and looked thoroughly amused. He gave her a nod, then a smirk, and began leading her to the Master's study.

* * *

Damiel's Journal #2

Where I was, I did not know. Who was holding me hostage, or what other horrors I was going to face, remained a mystery to me. It was dark and cold, my sweat cooling quickly on my skin. These men—whoever _they_ were—did a poor job of bandaging my wounds from when I tried climbing the tower, not that I expected them to do anything close to a decent patchwork. The cell that I was in was only illuminated by only a flickering, almost dead candle. _They_ were all around me, though.

That feeling—_dé ja vu—_encircled my entire being. This reminded me too much of when I was a slave. Talal, he'd... he'd beat us then strip our rags off of us, chaining us to the wall, and slowly drill a piece of wood into our stomachs and backs. It was all a game to him. Whoever would cry out first would lose, and the loser would suffer a painful death. And as for the winner? They'd have to go through the whole 'game' all over again.

But that was not the game that these men had in mind. I could barely make out the whites of their eyes, but I saw what cruelty that was in their leader's eyes. He stared at my semi-naked body, wishing to rid me of my own flesh and see my blood spill onto the floor. They'd already seen the scars on my back, how each blemish represented abuse from the whip. _Talal's whip._ No, they would not whip me. They'd perform torture far worse than what I've ever experienced—torture that would remain and haunt me in my dreams for life. I saw it... I saw the want in that man's eyes to see me scream until I died... just as he saw the hatred and anger in my eyes. If this is what had befallen my other comrades, _damn these men to Hell._

Two days. I know I spent two days here, cold, hungry, and half bare in a cell. My arms and legs were chained together and I don't know what the Hell they did with Riva. I loved my weapon- probably more than I loved myself. If they had hurt her, I would _kill_ them. I'll be damned if they claimed her as their own.

I couldn't sleep- didn't _want_ to sleep. I wanted to know what they were planning to do with me. My body was already scarred and flawed, I wasn't worried about what I'd look like at the end of their tortures. No. I was terrified that I'd give them the information they wanted out of me, if any information at all, or if I'd see their vile leader smile in excitement from my screaming. I didn't want to show them my pain, but I knew better. I knew that I would scream until every last being in the world heard my cries of misery.

I lifted my head up when I saw the bars to my cell swing open, the fire from the flame casting long shadows down my grimy face. A rather large man bounded in the cell, grabbed me by my arms and hauled me onto my feet. He lifted me up and pinned me to the wall and smiled disgustingly at me. I cringed from his awful breath, but immediately regretted it when his fist pounded into my aching and broken ribs. I bit my tongue, biting back the scream as I did so, and drew blood in my mouth.

"Boss wants ta see ye now, _rag_," he said as he threw me out of the cell. I fell onto the floor on my stomach, the rough and fractured cobblestones scraping against my flesh. I groaned from the feel of layers of my skin being ripped, and I closed my eyes when I felt my warm blood slowly start to spread on myself. I kept my head down as I heard more footsteps making their way toward me. More guards came to join the bulbous man that had thrown me like a washcloth. I gritted my teeth when I felt something tug at the back of my head, merciless fingers curling themselves around my hair in a death grip. The hand made a sudden strong jerk, bringing my head up to look at the guard. I hissed through clenched teeth, praying to all the known gods that my chains would miraculously disappear and Riva would magically appear in my hands.

But I suppose this is what I deserve for disrespecting God and thinking Him and His followers fools.

"Yer gonna take a nice li'le trip, you _infidel_," he whispered maliciously as me. I narrowed my eyes and bared my teeth at him in defiance. Anger flashed through his eyes from my expression, and he brought his hand back to deal me a blow. _Go ahead, try__ it, estupido__..._

If I had come from a mundane family, I would not have been able to succeed at what I had just done. His hand crossed my face, smacking me, but just as his hand past my mouth, I lunged out, using my legs as springs, and bit the flesh of his palm. I shook my head like a dog, biting down harder on the skin. He screamed, the other guards immediately coming to his aid. They used bludgeons and their own fists to stop me, pounding on me while I sunk my teeth into this man's hand more and more. When my upper and bottom rows of teeth finally met each other, my body screaming at me to let the man go and to turn my attention to my current attackers, I gave one final tug with my head, tearing the man's skin off of him. He howled in pain, clutching his bleeding palm, screaming at the men to kill me. But you wouldn't kill me, I knew that. Your orders were to keep me alive and in acceptable condition for the torture. You couldn't kill me, at least, not yet.

Another club slammed into my side. Slumping to the floor, I whimpered and bit my lower lip. I opened one eye to see two or so guards tending to the man I injured, wrapping his hand in layers upon layers of bandages. I took in deep breaths, trying to soothe my abused body. The guards each glared at me, some shaking their fists as they did so. I didn't care. I knew that whatever I was going to face would make me cry and wail like a banshee. They'd have their chance at victory, if not already.

I cringed and scrambled backward when they reached out to me. The round man from before growled, stormed over to me, and dragged me by my arm through corridor after corridor. We passed other guards, the men that were outside of my cell following behind. Each man looked down at me. Some gave me a pitiful look, others sneered, some laughed, while even a few of them closed their eyes in regret. Where was I going? I couldn't see anything, the fat man was in the way of my vision. Because of his largeness, I gave him Hell the whole drag to wherever in Riva's name he was taking me. I kicked my legs out, wiggled my shoulders violently, and even bit at his legs. He was annoyed, I could tell, when he gave a sharp tug to my arm, practically ripping the limb out of its socket. I writhed on and on, never faltering. I was only nine and ten years old and I had plenty of energy. I was cornered, which gave me even more of an adrenaline boost. And most importantly, I had a testosterone problem. I could go on and on with this tantrum, believe me.

That was, I could have continued with my struggle, had the fat man not entered a room lit by a roaring fire place, and thrown me into the center. This time I landed on my knees and somehow avoided cutting them. The tile—_tile_—in this room was smooth as silk, the walls a welcoming and warm orange color created by the fire. I gulped, knowing exactly well that this was all false. This room was not warm and welcoming. It was not friendly, it was _not_ where I wanted to be. What was even more disturbing was the man in the middle of the room, his back turned toward me. He was shaking, and I recognized him to be the guards' leader. He wasn't shaking from fear or from shivers. No, he was shaking in anticipation—waiting to see my blood slowly drip from my person. He slowly turned around, a starved and crazed look in his eyes, and smiled unnervingly at me.

* * *

"Ahh, so the _patient_ arrives at last," the man said to the aware boy whose eyes were darting around the room. It resembled that of a blacksmith's shop, complete with an anvil, tongs, furnace, hammers, and calipers. "I trust you've taken liking to my hospitality?" He flashed Damiel a smirk when the boy glared at him. "No? That's such a shame..." He sighed dramatically and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, two guards came into the room, grabbing Damiel by each arm. They pulled him away from the center of the chamber and towards the other side of the cheerfully lit room where buckles and straps were attached to a metal sheet on the floor. The leader nodded and pointed to the floor with his index finger. The guards slammed Damiel onto the floor and wrapped the leather straps around his torso, legs, and neck, holding him down. He struggled violently against their handiwork, snarling and growling at the men. He tried twisting his body out of the apparatus, but was quickly quieted by a foot coming down on the midsection of his pelvis. The boy grunted and twisted his face from the blow. His body let off another protesting howl from the pain, and he was vaguely aware that his chains were briefly removed from his arms and legs. Instead, he had his wrists and ankles cuffed to the floor, outstretched, as were his legs.

He gulped, not liking his position in the least. His heart pounded in his chest, almost freeing itself from his flesh.

The leader motioned his head to the side, the signal for the guards to leave. They all but eagerly left the chamber, bounding out of the door. What did the lone figure have planned for him?

"Perhaps... we can make you feel more at home?" The man flashed him a dazzling smile that was quickly replaced with a gruesome, anticipating smirk. The corner of his mouth turned up repulsively, revealing one of his canine teeth. Damiel turned his head slightly to the side, just as much as the leather straps and buckles allowed him to do so. He narrowed his eyes at the man, wary of his every action.

He walked over to the fireplace, gently gripping the tongs from the anvil, feeling the boy's eyes rake his body. He reached out with the utensil and toyed with a black and round substance that could fit in the palm of one's hand. With his back to him, Damiel could not see what the man was doing, but knew that whatever it was, it was going to hurt. "But, do tell me, where has your little friend gone? The woman: Maria?"

Damiel remained silent, his tongue curled at the back of his throat. He refused to tell this man _anything_ of himself or of the Rose. A moment of silence passed between them before the man sighed. "Oh, dear, oh dear," he began, tapping the tongs against the heated rock. "Such a shame, I have to say," he murmured. He carefully closed both ends of the tongs around the stone and walked back over to the restrained boy. He knelt down beside him, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"Such a shame for a boy as young as yourself to..." His voice trailed off as he slowly and gently placed the burning coal onto Damiel's stomach. The boy immediately lurched forward, the straps restraining him from removing himself more than an inch off the ground. He bit back the scream that wanted to escape his lips as the coal slowly charred his skin, the sweltering rock imprinting itself on him. His muscles tensed from the contact of the blistering rock against his skin, his eyes watering and mouth set in a firm, painful line. "To endure something so... _poetic_..." the man finished. He gave the boy a regretful look, but he could see through the mask. Damiel's face was taut and his neck strained, his eyes huge as he stared Death itself at the man, wishing him to drop dead that very instant. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, as if he had just caught Damiel breaking one of the rules of the house.

"Tell me, Damiel," he spoke softly as he took the tongs and pushed the coal into the boy's skin, "where is Maria?" Damiel moaned and curled both of his lips inside his mouth, his stomach heaving from the applied pressure. "No? Still won't tell me?" The man sighed and dug the coal deeper, the only response being another moan from the boy. "Choose your options carefully, Damiel," he whispered. "You might even be able to walk out of here without too many new scars to your body if you speak."

Damiel shut his eyes against the agony and gave one firm shake of his head. He heard the man's retreating footsteps, giving him a brief moment to adjust to the heat of the coal. It was wrong, it was _all so wrong!_ Humans did not deserve to be branded with rocks or tortured like this!

The Templar soon returned with another coal being held delicately in the pliers and was at Damiel's side once more. He didn't say anything, only applied the coal a couple of inches above the first rock. He watched with fascination as the boy's face twisted, the muscles in his neck becoming taught, the veins in his forehead protruding—_beautiful! Absolutely picturesque!_

Sweat glistened off of the boy's body. His breathing was labored; his eyes shut tight and lips trembling.

"_Where is she?"_ he demanded once again. And once again, the boy remained silent. The man sighed and in a matter of seconds, another coal was placed on the boy's torso. Damiel's entire body shook, the rock melting his skin into a semi-watery substance. The flesh was forever damaged, as was his mind. He knew, deep in the recesses of his brain, that he could always lie to the man. But could he convince him? No, he knew he could not, not in his current state. And so he withstood the pain, the man's calm voice doing nothing to ease the heat and intensity of the rocks placed on him.

They were in a straight line, from his navel to the dip in his collarbones. He was crying now, the tears mixing in with the sweat pouring off of his face.

"Does it hurt, Damiel?" the man asked smoothly. Damiel gave one nod with his head, his nostrils flared and cheeks red with anger. "Oh, poor thing," he cooed. "A boy as young as you shouldn't have to withstand something so painful, should he?" The only sounds heard were that of the Templar's soft words and the boy's labored and staggered breathing.

"So young, so young," he mused. "Nine and ten years, is it? Only nineteen summers on you—barely even a man yet..." The man's hand slithered down from Damiel's side until it reached his hip, his hand resting on his torn undershorts. "Let us see just how far along your... _development_... has gone, hmm?" In a swift tug, the cloth was no longer around the boy's pelvis, but was loosely resting at his knees. Damiel's eyes flew open and he glared at the man out of embarrassment, anger, hatred, and loathing. The Templar merely looked at him with a soft expression, his mouth pulled in a gentle smile. _It was sickening..._

His hand trailed back up Damiel's leg. The boy's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth dangerously at him. _Bastardo..._

He smirked, and then let his fingertips glide over the length of his manhood, barely touching the skin. "_So young..._" He was about to snarl at the man and growl for placing his hands on him, when an ear-splitting scream shook the room as a coal was applied to his member.

Damiel shrieked, his pupils becoming the size of a quill's tip. His nails dug into his palms, his legs shook out of control, and his breathing stopped for a few seconds to allow him to wail on. He whimpered and cried, tears streaming down his face and dripping down onto the dirty floor.

"It really does pain me to see you in such condition, Damiel," he lied sweetly. "But if you do not confess anything to me, it will only get worse. _Much worse_." The boy swallowed, painful moans escaping his lips. He opened his mouth, his voice barely a whisper. The man narrowed his eyes and smiled in victory. "What was that?"

"_Dije... MYRUHT KOUNEH! EEM BLIGES DZE-DZE! KAK OUDAK SHOON, TOON ESH! GULEER KELOOH! PERANUHT SHUNE KAKNEH! MYRUHT KOUNEM! SHAN TULA! EIM BLIGIS KO KURI VERA! DZEVERET KE KETREM, RAGATKOV GELXEET KE KERAKEM!" _He swiveled his head back and forth frantically, spit flying from his mouth and eyes blazing with terror and hatred. The man looked absolutely furious, not understanding the language but understanding the meaning behind it. Two coals were placed on each of his underarms, the delicate skin set almost ablaze.

Damiel screamed once more, "_LE MATARÉ! USTED MORIRÁ POR LAS GARRAS DE UN ÁGUILA, USTED CAGÓ! ESPERO DEMANDA DE MIL HOMBRES USTED EN CAMA, SU ESPOSA HACE UNA PUTA, SU HIJA PIERDE SU VAGINA, Y SUS HERMANOS JUEGAN CON LOS PECHOS DE SU ABUELA! BASTARDO, BASTARDO, BASTARDO!"_

The Templar's eye twitched from the foreign words. He cleared his throat, and shook his head. "You should not have said that, Damiel..." He walked back over to the furnace, relishing in the fact that the boy was still crying out from the pain. Using the tongs, he handled a small, partially smooth-surfaced item and brought it with him as he stood next to the weeping boy once more. "Damiel, do you know what this is?" He crouched beside him and held the object in front of the boy. His eyes widened when he recognized it.

It was a marker—proof that he'd belong to _them; _the _Templars. _It was _their_ icon, _their_ symbol engraved in a circle.

"Good, you _do_ know what it is," the man purred. "And it'll be in a place you'll always remember, Damiel. _Your heart_." The man pressed the insignia into the left side of the boy's chest on top of the sensitive, soft flesh. He screamed once more, his foreign curses filling the air as the nipple was forever marred and deformed. "The pain you're facing today, Damiel, is only the beginning. If you do not answer my questions, I will be honored to plunge you further in the darkness of your own blood."

Damiel closed his eyes, readying himself for the next onslaught of cruelty.

And he was right. The torture became worse. _Much worse._

* * *

The buildings were still broken, the streets covered in rubble and debris. Loose cobblestones, dirt, beggars, and the homeless still wandered the ruined city of Acre. It hadn't changed a bit since she had last been there.

Houses were crumbling, the roofs still missing. The majority of the population was still Christian, yet there were more Middle Eastern races amongst the people than there were two years prior. But God, it was still lifeless. The sky was still clouded, sunlight barely piercing through the veil. The guards were still arrogant and felt that they were superior to all—still harassing innocent scholars or women.

The clothing was still torn and ripped; the very few children that came outside still wore their tattered garments. Their mothers did not care, though. There was barely enough food for themselves, let alone for the children. It was clear that the Devil had left his mark in this city.

She stood in the center of all of this, staring with saddened and frightened eyes. The Third Crusade was over, this should have been cleaned up by now... But it wasn't. No, there were far more important things to tend to rather than an already destroyed city. But this city meant so much to her... Acre was a piece of her life. It was where she was conquered, where she had admitted to herself and to a man that she loved him. And now... it was... _dead_.

Maria slowly walked the streets, her hood concealing her face. There were too many familiar faces here for her, too many guards that she recognized. And no doubt they'd recognize _her_ if she was to remove her cloak. She was a traitor in their eyes. If she was found out, she'd be taken as a hostage and most likely beaten. _Hostage..._ _like what Damiel was..._

She shook her head and tried blinking away the thought of him. He was wounded, blood soaking through his tunic. That much she could tell when she witnessed him being hauled away by Templars. She didn't know what they'd do with him or where he was, but she prayed to God that he was alright. She had already lost Hildegard and Benjamin; to lose Damiel would tear her apart. Those three were the ones that had kept her alive throughout the past year. Now, with all of them gone... she was beginning to wonder if there really was a point to her existence. What point _was _there? Altair had left her, her friends were gone, half her family hated her and frowned upon her while the other half was deep within the earth, and she was a traitor to the Templars. She served no faction, had no master. The Rose was dead, that she knew. They were defeated, picked off one by one. _Damn Templars..._

She found herself on the western side of Acre, standing on the docks. The port was opened up to regular folk now that Sibrand was out of the picture. And Lord knew how many people were just standing, some sitting, on the docks, looking out at the sea, as if the ocean held all the answers to their lives. She blended in perfectly by idling her time away, grey eyes staring at the water. What would she do? What _could_ she do? She had spent most of the day searching for Benjamin's allies that he had spoken of. She had done her best, but she could not find them. She eavesdropped, she bribed, but the citizens knew not of anyone. It was as if it was all a dream, that nothing seemed to matter anymore. She'd let them down, she knew that. Her friends would never be seen again, she'd never return to England, she couldn't stay in the Holy Land forever, for she feared _he_ would show up. That would be the icing on the cake for her. If Altair dared approached her, she knew she'd drop dead.

Maria sighed and plopped her bottom down on the planks. She crossed her arms and furrowed her eyebrows together. There had to be _something _she could do with herself. Becoming a whore was out of the question, she'd rather waltz naked with that damn Assassin than become a prostitute. She couldn't return to the Crusades, it'd be off with her head for her. She could always do community service, but for what? What would she gain out of that? It'd be a waste of eleven years of rebelling against her gender and standing up for women's rights. She could always return to Canterbury and maintain her uncle's estate, but what good would it do? He and her Aunt Emily were long dead, as well as her two cousins that she dearly loved. Being there would only bring back old, painful memories of her childhood. It'd also be too close to London for comfort. The Templars were probably renaming the city 'Templar Kingdom' for all she knew. But what she did know was that England was out of the question. _Definitely_ out of the question.

She had plenty of money; she could always buy a small piece of land in the middle of nowhere and live there. '_Such a lonely existence, though... I wonder if Altair's life was as lonely before me?'_ She immediately shook the idea out of her head, but couldn't help wondering. What _was_ his life like before he met her? His personality told her that he did not interact with people often, yet he knew how to speak fluently in other languages and knew how to control and hide his feelings. He was like a brick when she had first tried conversation with him. At first, he would not even reply to her. He just stood there, staring at her as if she was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. She probably was. After all, what was a _woman_ doing in the Crusades? And what was a _woman_ doing by mocking him and insulting him? At least, she thought he was staring at her like she had lost her mind. That damned hood of his hid his face from her. All she saw was the tip of his nose and mouth. And of course the man never smiled at her, so she had no idea if he was enjoying her pointless talk or annoyed with it.

'_He's probably forgotten about me,' _she thought bitterly. '_I was probably just some damn stress relie__ver for him. He most likely__has __women in every city and town swooning__ over him and waiting for him—__dammit!_' She sighed and bit her bottom lip. He was probably cracking jokes with his Assassin friends, saying how much of an easy woman she was and how she readily gave herself to him. It wasn't easy on her behalf, it really wasn't. She was nervous and afraid. What if he didn't like the way she looked? What if he expected a flawless beauty underneath her clothes? Flawless, no. Beautiful? Only a little, through her eyes at least. She had battle scars on her body, tanned thin streaks on her pale flesh. She thought for sure that he'd shake his head and dive off the tower and into the water below, committing suicide just from seeing her bare.

A soft smile touched her lips as she recalled their night together. Once he had ripped—literally—her clothes off of her, she crossed her arms over herself, hiding her breasts from him. Her hair wasn't long enough to do the job for her; it'd only reached about an inch or two past her shoulders. He had merely taken a step back, looked at her with a perplexed gaze, and then took her back in his arms, cradling her against himself as he whispered in her ear. He had, with some difficulty and with one punch that barely missed his forehead, brought her arms back down to her side and laid her down on the straw covering the cold stone of the tower. She snarled and growled at him, but soon gave up the struggle as his mouth descended upon her own.

She remembered that he had broken the kiss to allow his eyes to rake over her naked form. His hazel eyes memorized every centimeter of herself, every particle of skin. They started at her head, his hand brushing against her cheek as he noticed the blush spreading across her face. He saw how her curly hair framed her face nicely, how the strands of ebony cascaded down in smooth waves to her shaking shoulders. His eyes trailed down her shoulders to her breasts, a glint shining through his exotic orbs as he stared with hunger at the ample, soft mounds of flesh. _How in Allah's name had she managed to conceal these from him in their travels together?_

But he didn't care for an answer. All he cared about was that she was completely nude and underneath him, willing to be claimed by him.

His eyes roved down to her hips and to the sacred and secret region hidden behind two folds of skin. _He wanted her. _His arousal became more and more demanding at each passing second—so demanding that he did not know that she too was staring at his exposed skin with longing in her eyes. Her gaze settled between his legs. She stared at the prominent, thick, and swelled shaft, knowing that he was dying to break her barrier and find rhythm inside of her.

And she let him. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she had pulled him back on top of her, their mouths locking together and tongues meeting each other's in a struggle for dominance. His rough hands traveled up and down her anatomy, cupping her breasts and feeling the sensitive and hardening peeks with his thumbs, then soon traveled lower to unmarked territory. Her own hands felt each of his muscles, felt how they twitched underneath her touch and how they coiled together when she began feeling south.

Then, it all happened in a matter of minutes. He positioned himself on top of her, his warm and deep pools of brown and green asking her own wide and nervous grey eyes for permission. She gave no argument, only allowed him to spread her legs apart.

And then she was his, after much bucking and grazing, after they had each moaned to each other and kissed passionately.

'_Stupid woman, forget about him. He's no better than that Joseph you married years ago.'_ She stood from the docks and marched her way back into the sorrowful depths of Acre, eager to erase the memory of him feeling the most delicate parts of her body and suckling on her from her mind. She couldn't do it, though. Maria Thorpe could not help but think of how he had shown her a completely new and different side to him. He wasn't the cold and brief man that she had aided in Cyprus, nor was he the mysterious and well defended Assassin she had sailed with. He was a man, simple as that. A man that could no longer control his desire of having her, as she was a woman who could not control her lust and need for him.

It had always been her. It had always been herself that she relied on, always had to be independent. Never could she allow herself to rely on another. She had relied on Robert to lead her troubled soul to the light, yet that had failed miserably, considering that everything he had told her was a lie. She had trusted her friends, only to have them taken from her. And then there was this Assassin, this _murderer_. He had never put any of his responsibilities on another, same as she. They both needed someone to lean on, someone to share their troubles with.

'_Is that all I am? Just... just a pitiful therapist? A useless clown? Just some silly woman that he decided to lay all of his troubles on, and then walk away?'_

She sighed and trudged over to a tavern. She could go for a fight or two with some drunks, after all, she could always imagine that each man was that blasted Altair and would gladly send them punch after punch. No, scratch that. She would gladly kick each of their testicles in and pretend they were that bloody Assassin's.

* * *

Altair stood at one of the bookshelves of his study, weaving through the selection of novels. Bayo sat patiently at his side, his furry mouth set in almost a grin as he stared at his master. They had not yet trained together yet, despite the fact that it was early morning, and he was eager for the man to be done with whatever it was he was doing. He seemed to just flip through a few pages of each book, and then place it back on the shelf. Was he looking for something? He probably was, though the dog couldn't be sure. The man was impossible for him to read. One moment, he'd have a slightly disturbing smile on, and then the next it would be gone again. Then a minute later, he'd be chuckling to himself. Bayo swore that he was going insane, though he knew he was probably thinking about Mistress Maria.

By all the bones in the world, he missed his former master. He missed how she would discipline him, how she'd carefully put a small chunk of raw meat on his nose and order him to not eat it for long minutes. He'd do anything to play fetch with her again. She always found a way to challenge his muscles and how she'd never baby him around. True, he enjoyed being pampered, but sometimes it made him forget what he really was. He was a _warrior_, bred to kill. He wasn't bred to have that one-armed man scratch him behind the ears and coo to him about what a 'good boy he was' when no one else was watching.

Though, he did have that occasional itch behind his ears that he couldn't reach, and the humans in the fortress were all too eager to pet the 'cute little doggy'.

His ears perked up when Altair nodded his head and walked briskly back to the desk, his finger holding the page open while he scribbled nonsense down on parchment with his other hand. Bayo followed the man and tilted his head to the side. What was he doing? What were those letters? Who was it for? Was it for Maria?

Bayo stood on his hind-legs and curiously peered over the desk at the paper. The Master of Assassins was frantically writing something down on it. It seemed that whatever was in the book was important. Huffing, the dog stood back on his four legs and circled the desk multiple times in search of something to do.

Altair glanced back and forth between the book and parchment he was furiously writing away at. _Incredible! How could he have not known this_?

He had briefly skimmed through the text of the novel, but was confirmed with what he had read. _They had allies!_ Masyaf was not the only fortress of Assassin's—oh, no, there were _more _of them—specifically on the Iberian Peninsula. How strange; Al Mualim had never told him or any of his Brothers of more than one fortress that was home to the Hashshashin. Was the Old Man afraid that if they were to know of this, they'd demand to be reunited with their Brothers? If that was the case, then it made perfect sense. With more Assassins around, it'd only be a matter of time before one of them discovered their Master's true purpose; they'd have learned of his allegiance with the Templars.

He closed the book and placed it on the side of his desk. He would have to write to these new-found Brothers and learn more of their ways. Were they like the Assassins in the Middle East? Did they follow the Creed respectfully? Were there Templars invading their homeland as well?

Altair was aware that there had been many, many battles taking place on the Iberian. He knew that the Arabic culture was spreading quickly in Spain, due to many Muslim victories in the territory. Perhaps these Brothers used to be part of the Masyaf Fortress and spread their claim by moving west? It was indeed a wise tactic. They didn't have many ears near Europe, and if the Assassins were on the Iberian, well, then they most certainly had plenty of ears. No doubt some of them would even be in England and France as well, if that was to be the case.

The Master of Assassins was shaken out from his thoughts when he heard Bayo whimper. It wasn't the hungry cry, or the annoyed squeal, but rather a desperate sound. Altair frowned and noticed that the dog was sniffing the air. Did he smell food? They'd just ate though, how could the dog be hungry?

But when he followed the canine's gaze, he immediately understood why he was so anxious. Malik and a group of his Brothers were making their way up the stairs to his study with that blonde woman, Hildegard, in the middle of the small cluster. Bayo whined and stamped his feet impatiently. He could _smell_ her, but he couldn't _see_ her!

Malik led the men toward the Master and gave a small bow with his arm. "Master, the woman you've requested is—"

He was immediately silenced when Bayo had charged through the mob of men, white robes flying from the action, and launched himself directly onto Hildegard. The breath escaped her lungs as she fell over on her backside from the impact of the dog. He was glad, however.

Hildegard was here! That meant treats! Oh, he could practically taste the bits of raw meat she had stored in her pockets and the juicy bones she'd give him!

Bayo lolled his tongue out happily and began slobbering all over her, licking her face, neck, anything he could find. She laughed and tried desperately to shoo the dog off of her person, but he wouldn't have it. It had been far too long since he had seen anyone from his former life. And now here was Hildegard!

The other Brothers grumbled but gave confused stares at the woman and dog. Bayo? Was Bayo actually acting like the hound he was? Was their warrior dog actually being _playful_? And that woman—the one that had been so rude to the Master—was _laughing_?

What sorcery was this?

Malik floated his way over to the Grandmaster by the desk and leaned toward him. He said in a hushed tone, "Altair, do you... do you find this rather... peculiar?"

The man kept his face emotionless and ran his hand through his thick dark hair, removing his hood as he did so. "Not in the least, Malik."  
The other man rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Do you mean to tell me you've kept yet _another_ thing from the Brotherhood—from _me_?" he hissed.

Altair placed a hand on the man's shoulder before walking toward the squabbling woman and overjoyed dog. He remained stoic while he looked down on her, but he was just as bewildered as his other Brothers. True, he had known that Bayo knew Hildegard, but for him to react this way? Were they close?

Not in this pocket, not in that pocket... Where in the world did this woman hide the treats? He whined and nudged her with his nose, planting another wet and slobbery kiss on her cheek. She wiped the drool off and eventually stood to her feet, given that Bayo kept placing one of his strong paws on her and holding her down. Once she was no longer on the floor, she sighed and turned her head away from the other men present.

"We're familiar with each other," she simply said, shrugging. The Assassins slowly nodded, glancing back and forth between the now bouncing dog and the calm woman. "The little glut expects me to pamper him and give him meat."

Malik grunted and strode over to her. "We can see that, _woman_—"

"Oh, will you _please _start showing _some _respect, you blasted, good for nothing, womanly figured, brainless, pigeon pooping _cripple?_" she scoffed and folded her arms. "Honest to the Lord, I have never seen such disrespectful, rude—"

"Neither have we," Altair stated. His voice echoed off of the room, yet it was completely neutral. She looked into his hazel eyes and quickly averted his gaze. Although he appeared not to have been angered by her, those eyes could stop an army in one quick glance. They were so... _distant._

The Master of Assassins gave one nod to his men, and they quickly bowed and left the Master's study. Once the three of them and the dog that was licking Hildegard's hand were the only ones left in the chamber, he turned back toward his desk. He browsed the bookshelves on either side of the table, not seeming to be interested in what he found.

Hildegard waited, if rather impatiently, for the man to finally turn his attention over to her. '_He sends his little henchman to collect me from the room, wanting an audience with me, and then he completely ignores me..! The fool will know what's coming to him soon enough...'_

After painfully long minutes of standing there, looking around the room in complete boredom, she finally decided enough was enough. If he asked her to see him, it was downright ungentlemanly to keep her waiting there like a lost girl.

"I take it you wished to speak with me?" Her voice was sharp, her disdain for him clearly audible. He didn't even turn his head or give any sign of acknowledgment. He simply stood at his precious little bookshelf, running his hand up and down the spine of the novels. She rolled her eyes from the sight of him and began tapping her foot. "_I said_," she began with a snarl and narrowed eyes, "_you wished to speak with__—_"

"I know what you said," he quickly spat at her.

"Oh, well, if that's the case, perhaps you should at least get on with what you need to say?" She glared at him and balled her hands into fists. Oh, she'd love to punch his exotic and handsome face and send it smacking into the wall...

He stopped and slowly turned his head toward her. She bit her lip from being under his gaze for a mere split second, but held her ground. He narrowed his eyes, taking in her nervousness, anxiety, and, of course, her anger and hate toward him.

"I will need you to tell me more of this 'Rose' you spoke of." Hazel stared into brown, and brown seethed at hazel. She took a deep breath, trying to control her retorts and tantrum that threatened to spew out of her mouth.

"And if I refuse?"

Malik chuckled and sneered at her, "Then you can expect to be thrown back into the wine cellar, woman."

She swiftly snapped her head in the cripple's direction and bared her teeth at him. "And maybe I'll lop that other arm off for you—even things out a bit."

Altair's eye twitched from the threat. He twisted his left arm slightly, the blade attached to his gauntlet gleaming off of the sun's just rising rays. Her eyes immediately swept to his arm and she gulped, remembering the metal that had almost pierced her throat. She averted her gaze to the floor, seething on the inside when she heard the one-armed man grunt in victory at her.

'_Devil spawn..'_

"I take it you'll reconsider?" It was not a question, nor a demand. It was what he knew. He knew that if she refused, then she'd be of no further value to him, Maria's best friend or not. And when one was no longer substantial to an Assassin...

She nodded and nervously clasped her hands in front of her. "What is it you want to know of us?"

"The foundation of the faction: your purpose, members, skills, victories, failures, current objectives—anything you are able to tell me."

Hildegard laughed lightly and shook her head. "There isn't much to tell you, I've already given you most of the information." However, he stared at her expectantly, his face hard and dark. She sighed, "Our purpose is to hinder and distract the Templars from their main goal: control over humanity in order to have world peace. We have seven members: three men, and four women, and we each have various skills. Olivia is an archer and a scout, Zaina a thief, Damiel a pike-man who also has the ability to annoy an entire army back to their home country, Benjamin a swordsman, informant, and respectable veteran, Maria a warrior as well and also _my best friend that you left__—_"

"I find it amusing how you forgive him merely two days ago, and now today you are still as vicious and cobra-like," Malik said as he rolled his eyes. "Annoying woman..."

She once again gave him a menacing stare. "It's good to know that you were listening in on our conversation, cripple."

Altair gave him a brief disapproving look before gazing back at Hildegard. She quickly continued, "And as you know, I myself am part of the Rose. I'm an informant, a warrior, and something we like to call a double-agent."

Malik immediately sneered at her from the information, his lips turning into a rude and mocking smile. He narrowed his eyes, raised an eyebrow, and glanced back and forth between Altair and Hildegard. "A double-agent, you say? Then you are with the Templars after all—"

"No, I am not," she growled, her eyes gleaming brightly with annoyance. "I am a Lady, cripple, believe it or not," she added in when he rolled his eyes in disbelief, "and because of my status, I'm able to attend parties, feasts, meetings and whatnot that the nobles held. I was able to gain valuable information." She turned her head to frown at Altair. "Information that saved your precious' life quite a few times."

His face softened slightly at the mention of Maria, however it vanished as quickly as it had come. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "You have only named six people, _Lady_ Hildegard." His face remained blank and unreadable, yet she could tell he was trying to subtly insult her. And he succeeded, for her face turned red in anger and her fists shook in rage. "So, tell me, who is the seventh of your faction?"

"His name is Aden," she blurted out, "he's one of the finest swordsman we have ever seen, a remarkable sailor, a passionate friend, strong, big man, caring, considerate, polite, gentlemanly—"

Both men stared at her as she rambled on and on about this 'Aden'. Malik looked over at Altair and gave him a knowing look. So, she was taken with this man. Interesting...

"He is your lover?" The question was out of the Grandmaster's mouth before he could restrain it. He felt guilty for asking it so bluntly, yet the feeling was replaced with triumph as he saw her gape and look down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. It wasn't any of his business, after all, but if it was a way to shut her up, then he'd be glad to humiliate her over and over again. Dare he say it, she was worse than Malik when the market was out of kibbeh.

"He... well..." She bit her lower lip as she stared long and hard at the stone floor of the study. She didn't know what answer to give, let alone how to say it. Aden had feelings for her, she knew that, but did she feel the same way for him?

When she was in Halim's custody, she had felt something for the big burly man. It was... strange. She was not comfortable being anything but friends with men- her body proved that. But how could she refuse him? He was everything that the men she had slept with were not. He was respectful, if a bit too gentle with her. But she could easily request him to not treat her like a breakable doll. But what if that was what she was? What if she appeared fragile and delicate to her friends and they felt the need to be extra careful with her?

She closed her eyes and shook her head gently. "He's... a friend," she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. "A friend. We... we do not have anything special between us," Hildegard lied. She looked up at both men with a straight face. She whispered, "Just a friend."

The one-armed man remained looking at her with a bored expression on. He yawned and said, "Such a shame. I feel bad for the man knowing he has to put up with _you_."

Her fury instantly grew and thundered inside of her. She whipped around to bare her teeth at him. "How _dare_ you! You ask me questions, I give answers. You listen to my answers—at least, I think you do—and then mock me! And when I try to defend myself, _you_," she pointed at Altair, "start showing that damn vambrace of yours and threaten to take my life! What justice is there in this? What _honor_?"

Altair frowned and was about to silence her for being so out of place, but he turned his head to the side when a rustling sound interrupted his actions. He walked away from her and stepped to the grand window where a light grey dove was perched.

She was absolutely on the verge of killing something. He just... he just... had the _nerve_ to_ walk away_ from her! Unbelievable! Disgraceful! She cried out in frustration and stamped her foot. "_Don't just turn your back on me, leader of the Assassins or not! I will NOT tolerate such behavior!"_

Malik laughed and mocked her, "_Oh?_ Since when do _you_, a _woman_ who has no way of defense, has the capability to order _our_ Master? Careful, you may lose that tongue of yours."

She crossed her arms over herself and jutted her hip out in defiance. "_Excuse me? _And since when do _you_, a brainless _cripple_, have the right to treat a _guest_—"

"_Exactly. YOU are the guest, this is OUR home__—_"

"_I do not care if it is God's home! _You do NOT treat people like this!"

He rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw firmly. "And _you_ do not speak to _men,_ your _superiors, _like this!"

Altair was vaguely aware that the two of them were arguing behind him, and he was even less aware of the fact that Malik was close to strangling the woman with his own hand or that Hildegard was ready to unsheathe the dagger inside her shirt and to stab the Assassin with it. He was far too busy reading the letter the bird had delivered him. His eyes scanned over all the words and he frowned.

"...ignorant woman! I will teach you respect!" Malik marched over to her, his arm pulled back and ready to let his fist fly into her face. Hildegard took a step back, growled at him, and was about to pounce on the man.

'_So, they've found something in Acre,'_ the Master of Assassins thought. He paid no mind to what was going on behind him as he scratched his chin and stared out the window. '_I am pleased to know that my Brothers are working to their best capability and that much effort is being put into this.'_ He turned around and bit the inside of his cheek as he saw the two near each other, ready to attack.

"_Enough!_" he commanded. His voice echoed off of the room, the bellow causing both man and woman to stagger backwards in shame. He narrowed his eyes at Malik, ashamed of his behavior. "She is our guest, Malik—"

"And I suppose you wish to speak to me again? Or do you plan on turning your back on me once more and ignoring me?" Hildegard strode over to him, her shoulders heaving and face twisted in a hideous scowl. "You are downright _incompetent_, you _bastard_."

Altair's eyes turned to two deathly slits as he glared Hell and Demons at the woman. She did not step down, but he could see how her expression changed from determination to fear. It was amusing to the man that this woman had claimed she was Maria's most trusted friend, yet they were nothing alike. Maria would have _never_ shown fear to him and would have ordered him to treat her better right there on the spot, even in front of the entire Assassins if she had to. Remarkable woman.

"It'd be wise not to demand from the Hashshashin, Hildegard," he snapped at her through clenched teeth. "We just may lose our patience with the likes of _you_."

She furrowed her eyebrows together and swung her hand out at him, almost smacking his cheek, had he not grabbed her arm and twisted it back and thrown her to the ground. Years of training and dedication to the art of stealth had severely paid off for him. He had been smacked by a woman before—Maria—and he knew from experience that often it left a mark. And a sting. And an angry woman.

She grunted when she hit the floor, her chin scraping against the stone. She gritted her teeth together and pulled herself up, her eyes blazing with anger and nostrils flared. Bayo stood, confused. His master had just struck a friend... what was he to do? Should he even do anything? He whined and decided against it. He'd be a good dog, for now.

She whirled around to shriek at the man, but stopped when she saw him and his annoying friend conversing with one another. Or, rather, the one-armed man was reading a paper while Maria's bastard lover was speaking in a hushed tone.

'_Master, I have done as requested and remained vigilant in Acre. My lookout has paid off. An ally, one of us, is being held prisoner in the Templar Stronghold that once belonged to William of Montferrat._

_-Your Brother'_

Malik raised an eyebrow from the letter and looked over at Altair, who was busy bustling to and fro his desk, placing books back on the shelves and shuffling through papers quickly. He cleared his throat, and said, "I take it, Brother, you will be leaving for Acre then?"

He nodded, not saying a word, and completely disregarded Hildegard. He briskly walked down the steps of his study, through the door in the hall, up another flight of stairs, through another corridor, up another flight, took a right, then a left, then a right, then another right, and then finally up another flight of stairs to reach his bedchambers. All the while, a confused Hildegard and anxious Malik were following him, along with an oblivious Bayo.

Malik stopped at the Master's door, as did Hildegard and Bayo. Hildegard was curious to see what all the commotion was about.

Altair made his way to the chest at the foot of his bed, practically threw it open, and began taking out its contents. His sword, curved knife, and throwing knives were all attached to his leather armor in seconds. He turned around out of his room and brushed past the three of them silently. They all followed him through the fortress and came to another stop when he was at the courtyard gates.

"Perhaps it is best if you bring another Brother or two with you, Altair?" Malik suggested. From what he'd heard from the other Dai, Acre was a place bustling with Templar activity. Master of the Assassins or not, every man made a mistake. When there was no response, he quickly asked, "I assume that you'll be neglecting your responsibilities as our Master by going off and leaving us?"

He ignored the question and said bitterly, "Malik, be sure that the woman is given a room to stay in." He walked through the gates and down the steep path that led to Masyaf's marketplace and village.

On the outside, it seemed that Malik was perfectly alright with his decision. Internally, however, he was furious and taken aback. Surely he could have sent one of their active Brothers? Why did he feel the need to handle this himself? It wasn't like they had never rescued one of their own kind before. Al Mualim had even trusted Malik to rescue one of their Brothers that Majd Addin, the executioner, was holding captive. Why did the Master feel _too_ responsible?

He bit his lip and shrugged. He could not go against what Altair said. Orders were orders, and whether or not he agreed with what the man commanded, he still had to obey. Thus, he turned his head to look at the woman, and held back a sigh. At least _he_ was able to hide his anger. _She_, however, was not able to.

Hildegard's eyes were narrowed, the irises barely even visible. Her face was scrunched up, a corner of her mouth turned up in a snarl. Even her fists were balled up tightly, knuckles white, and shoulders hunched with anger. Oh, Allah, preserve him.

She looked over at him, waiting for him to make a move. Malik gulped, nodded, and began leading her back inside the fortress to her new room.

'_Of course, Altair. Run off and play little Novice again while I deal with your dirty work... So typical of you!'_ He frowned and walked up the stone steps to enter a new corridor. He heard her quick and heavy footsteps behind him, as if she was marching. She probably was, due to her circumstances. Though, Malik did not feel any sympathy for her. If he thought about it hard enough, it was _his_ fault she was even here to begin with. Had he allowed Altair's letters to be delivered to Maria, he would never have met this beastly woman.

But, wait, no...

If Altair's blasted beloved had not abandoned him and set sail for England, none of this would have even happened! Hildegard would still be at God knew where, he'd have been able to sleep properly without hearing her screams in the cellar, and Altair would most certainly not have been ignoring his duties as Grandmaster. Hah! So, therefor, it is all Maria's fault! Of course! How could he have been so selfish to think that he was responsible?

He came to a gentle stop in front of a door and swung it open. He motioned with his head towards the room. "This is where the Master would like you to stay." It was all so confusing. First, he had placed her in a scarcely decorated room with barely anything of use, then he had her thrown and locked in a wine cellar, and now this?

She followed his gaze into the room and stepped in slowly, half expecting him to laugh and slam the door shut behind her. But he did not. He stayed in the doorway, watching her. It was slightly creepy and unnerving, but she quickly ignored it as she took in the furniture. The sight immediately calmed her down and set her in awe.

Everything was so intricate, so beautiful. The woodwork was made out of that of an olive tree, the light color suiting the medium-toned walls. It was all so complimentary. Everything looked so gentle, contrary to what Assassins really were. It was so contradicting, so ironic, that they would have such beautiful furniture.

Hildegard slowly walked towards the bed and sat down at the edge of it. She ran her hands over the sheets, admiring how soft and smooth they were. Was every room like this, or was it just the guest's room? Or was Altair trying to apologize for treating her so harshly by ordering this furniture be crafted just for her? Although he was rude and brief with her and always threatening, she knew that there was a side to him that not many people had the chance—no, _privilege_—to see. Malik, for example, was one of the few that had ever seen the human side of him. Others saw a coldhearted, merciless, paralyzing monster.

She looked over at Malik and gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she whispered. He gave a nod and stood at the foot of the bed. She frowned and tilted her head to the side in question.

He shook his head and waved her quiet. "At last," he began, "you show some qualities of a woman. I was beginning to think you were hit in the head when a child." He chuckled, but when he was not given a response, he cleared his throat and swallowed. "I trust that the room is to your liking?"

"Mhm," she said curtly. She bit her lip and raised her head to look at him. "Tell me, Malik, what did you mean when you said 'neglecting your responsibilities as our Master?' Surely that man was too preoccupied with his work over the year."

He sighed and returned her gaze with his own. "Perhaps over supper we may discuss this further."

She smirked, "Trusting me so soon?"

He rolled his eyes and shrugged easily. "If the Master deems you safe enough to leave the wine cellar, then I too must place my faith in you, woman."

"And if I chose to run away? What happens then?" She crossed her arms, but she was not at all challenging. It was a simple question, her face twisted in a curious frown.

He chuckled and ran his hand over his chin. "Well, that would be most unfortunate for you," he mused. "A woman so pretty as yourself, disobeying the Master's orders..."

She looked unconvinced and blinked. "If he is in love with Maria," she smiled as she saw him wince from the name, "then he would not take advantage of me, now would he?"

"Mmm, believe that it is the Master that would choose to have you and feel guilty afterwards... See how far that gets you." He smirked at her and walked out of the door, stepping to the side to let a particular dog enter the room. "Oh, and remember," he paused and called over his shoulder, "we will be meeting for supper. I'll have one of the servants come and show you the way. There's a change of clothes in the dresser." With that, he stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Hildegard smiled at Bayo and patted her lap, motioning him onto the bed. He happily sprang onto the mattress, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. He rubbed his head against his old friend's arm, demanding that she pet him. She laughed and complied.

"Isn't he a silly man, doggie?" she cooed. She had flipped the dog onto his back and was rubbing his stomach. He wiggled and righted himself and sniffed her pockets. Where were the blasted pieces of meat?

"He thinks he's so tough, doesn't he?" She lowered her mouth to the dog's neck and blew hot air onto it. He quickly drilled his nose into her forehead and growled playfully.

After several moments of reuniting with Bayo, Hildegard made her way over to the dresser the man had mentioned. Bayo was laying down at the foot of the bed, his forelegs crossed neatly over the other as he watched the woman.

She pulled a drawer open and recoiled her head back. These were...

She grabbed the garment and held it out over herself. This was not the type of clothing that the villagers had been wearing! By God, this wasn't even the clothing worn in this region! It was a dress, but it was an English dress. She even had an exact one back in her estate- before it was burned down, of course.

The length of it was a dark auburn color with loose white sleeves. She loved that dress, but she had forgotten to bring it with her. Did Malik do this? Or did Altair do this?

But this was Muslim territory. Christians weren't welcomed here, nor were Muslims welcomed in Europe. How had Altair known? Had he been feeling apologetic all along and had bought the clothes to her? Was he trying to say sorry? Or was he just trying to be on good terms with her because she was Maria's most trusted friend?

She shook her head in wonder, but laid the dress out on the foot of the bed. She would not change now. There was much of the morning left, and being in that cellar had drained her. The floor was uncomfortable, and the bed right in front of her just seemed lovely.

Without further ado, she collapsed on the sheets and sighed contentedly. How dare they deprive her of a bed as comfortable as this one...

* * *

He burst through the door, his entire body shaking with excitement. _Oh, it was beautiful!_ He jogged over to where his ally was and practically jumped in joy. "Oh, Seer! You should have seen it! It was all so wonderful! His cries, his pain, his _face_... Oh, it was truly marvelous," he sighed. He kept a disgusting small smile on his face as he shook his head. His eyes seemed to be in a completely different world.

Seer did not turn his gaze over to the man. Tyler had caught him in a game of chess with one of the other guards, and he was _not_ in the mood to lose because the man had distracted him. He grunted in acknowledgment.

Tyler huffed and crossed his arms. "You do not even care!" He rolled his eyes when Seer had remained unimptrddrf. "It's been too long since I've heard someone scream like that," he mused. "A fine pair of lungs that boy has..."

Seer sighed when the guard he was competing with suddenly clutched his mouth and raced away towards a window. After several moments of a dreadful hacking sound being heard, Seer addressed Tyler. "You cost me a match."

The man blew out impatiently and frowned. "And you're spoiling my fun! I just had a most wonderful time torturing a captive- that _Damiel_ boy! And now you're not even congratulating me!" he whined. Seer blinked and cleared his throat in annoyance. "Oh," Tyler said dreamily, "it was all so lovely. It was as if it was a sonnet! His cries, all different, yet all the same! Seer, you should have heard it!"

"I did," he said gruffly, staring at the chessboard, "we all could."

Tyler's eyes widened in astonishment as he gaped. "_Really?_ But that was four levels underground! How in the name of the Lord was he audible from up _here_?"

Seer remained silent and removed himself from the stool he'd been occupying. He simply walked away from the man, hoping he would leave him be. Torture was a coward's weapon, and he was no coward. However, his ally was not yet done babbling. So, Tyler followed him.

"He had hot coals placed on him today," he began, "and in a few more hours I plan to introduce him to The Chair. Surely those bindings he's in aren't comfortable..." When Seer made no move to reply, he pressed on. "Or maybe I should have him experience The Rack? Oh, Seer, my friend, there are just _too_ many options in my profession," he moaned.

"Of course," he wondered, "I could have his fingernails ripped off or have rats feast on his rotting flesh- what do you think, Seer?"

The war-experienced man stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head to the side. "I think," he growled, "that you are not interested in what information he holds dear. Rather, I believe that all you want is to hear screams." In a moment, Tyler was pressed against the wall, the collar of his tunic being clutched by the bigger and stronger man. Seer hissed at him, his forehead pressed against his in fury, "If that is the case, then I would be obliged to allow you to hear your _own _screams when I slice your stomach open and let the acids spill out."

Tyler shook in fear, but quickly recovered and scurried away from Seer. "Remember whose side you're on, Brother," he stammered. He held himself with his arms as he stared in shock at Seer. "One may think that you are not pleased with the Templars."

"The only thing that displeases me, Tyler, is _you_." He turned on his heel and walked briskly away from the quivering man. He did not care what plans he had in store for that Damiel rat, only that he kept his fantasies to himself and his disgusting hands off of him.

* * *

She found herself sitting down at a long table made out of the same wood as the furniture in her room. A red tablecloth had been spread across the length of it, steaming dishes and bowls of all shapes and sizes placed on top of the linen. Skewered lamb, chicken, mutton, salads of all sorts, pilaf, kibbeh, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and pork- _pork!-_ were all being served- and for only two people. It was ridiculous! Was he trying to insult her by all of this? Or was he just trying to show her that this was how their kind ate?

Hildegard glanced over at Malik who was seated at the other side of the table. The servants had just finished placing trays of food in front of them and the man was looking rather pleased with what he saw. Of course. Men. They all love food.

"Please, help yourself." His voice was kind. _Too kind_. She narrowed her eyes slightly but did as he said. She took one of the salad bowls and placed a small amount of romaine lettuce, cranberries, strawberries, and cucumbers on her plate beside the meat and rice. He watched her, even as he helped himself to the food on his plate. She kept her eyes downcast, not wishing to meet his gaze. If he would be a disturbing person, then she would not give him satisfaction of being aware. So, she simply ate the food on her plate.

It was silent, the dinner not being quite as fantastic as the food offered. Yes, everything was delicious, but she wished dearly that he would stop staring at her so intently and say something. _Anything!_

She gulped and risked looking at him. Her eyes widened and mouth flew open as she saw him take a bite of pork. He saw her expression and chuckled once he had swallowed the meat. "I take it you are confused?"

She could only nod, which earned another chuckle. "The Hashashin, Hildegard, do not follow ordinary Muslim customs."

Was it really all that simple? Was their Creed their religion then? "I do not understand," she stammered. She poked at the chicken kebab with her fork and waited for an answer from him.

"We do not consider ourselves to be like ordinary Muslims." _So it was arrogance!_ "For if we _were_ ordinary, we would not take lives. The Koran does not suit us all that well, which is why we have our Creed. It summarizes everything that book has to say, thus we live by what we, the Assassins, have created."

"But is the Creed not a method of combat? To be discreet?" she asked.

He repeated all three tenets and stared at her afterward, waiting for her to make the connection. She was dumbfounded. He sighed and placed his fork back on the table. "_Never harm an innocent._ It's quite clear what it means. The definition can be manipulated in many, many ways, physical or emotional. _Hide in plain sight._ We stay where ones least expect us to stay. It is a way of protection and prosperity. If we were to be obvious, how would we keep what we hold dear? _Never compromise the Brotherhood._ For us, the 'Brotherhood' is our Order. To harm one of us is to harm all of us. And what is it we fight for? We fight for peace with all things, human or not. We harm one of us, we harm our goal: we harm peace. We refrain from doing such a thing. Do you see now, Hildegard? Everything can be interpreted in many ways."

She nodded slowly, chewing on a piece of chicken. He gave a small smile and continued with his own meal. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

She raised an eyebrow at this and quickly swallowed her food. "What the Devil does that mean?"

"It means that there is no one correct way to see something. If I was to say that this tablecloth was red," he tugged on it for emphasis, "and you said it was a deep orange, which one of us would be right?"

"Did you purposely make it _you_ to be right?" she growled. He sighed but ignored her quip.

"Then answer this for me: how can we prove something is right?"

Hildegard furrowed her brows together and bit the inside of her lip. "Right is just right. There... there is no proving... you can't..."

"_Exactly_. If someone had bad eyes that saw different colors, they may have seen this cloth as purple for all we knew. But it is purple to _them_. Are they wrong for seeing it differently? No, of course they aren't."

"So, enlighten me," she said. "Tell me how all of this fits in with your purpose as Assassins."

"We hunt and kill Templars to destroy their dream of peace through force. But we do not hate them. How could we? How could we hate someone for thinking differently? They did not sin, it was simply a disagreement between two factions. We do not kill out of rage—well, some of us do, but that is another perspective altogether. How can we blame them for having emotion?"

"So you are saying everything is... transparent? That it is all a mirage?"  
He nodded. "Yes. The world is an illusion, Hildegard. Adapting is the key to survival, I believe."

"Believe?" She tilted her head to the side. "Animals are proof that you are right. If they did not hibernate during winter, they would freeze. Is that not adapting?"

"But some animals do not hibernate," he countered. " The deer here stay all year long. So who's to say that I'm right?" A smile slowly crept onto his face as she rolled her eyes. She found herself smiling back after a few moments.

"I see," she chuckled. The atmosphere had changed considerably, both civil and ready to get down to business. "And I take it you will answer my previous question?"

"Not before the ayran," he said. She opened her mouth to question, but soon shut it as a servant quickly entered the room and set down a pitcher made of pewter next to Malik. Once the woman left, he grabbed the pitcher and was soon pouring its contents into Hildegard's goblet.

"Mind telling me what the Hell this is?" she mumbled. He rolled his eyes and placed the pitcher back on the table once the glass was full.

"Ayran is a drink-"

"Oh, really? I thought it was a biscuit." She rolled her eyes and took a careful sip from her glass. "What's in this?"

"It's regular yogurt mixed with water and salt. Don't worry, it won't cause you to be uglier."

She scoffed and took a gulp from her goblet. It wasn't too bad. It was slightly sour, but it was delicious and thirst-quenching. He refilled her goblet when she had downed the whole beverage and poured himself a cup once he was back at his seat. "Now, you wanted to know why Altair has been irresponsible over the past year?"

"Does it have anything to do with a certain someone I know?"

"I blame her entirely," he grumbled. He shook his head and took a swig of the ayran. "Ever since she left, he's been moping around, sulking and crying in every corner he could find when no one was looking."

She smirked and chuckled. "I suppose you've never really had anyone to complain to about him?"

"He's always in the fortress," he shrugged. "Even though he's on the other side of the castle most of the time, he'll still hear me."

"And he wouldn't mind finding out that you've been disloyal to the Master of Assassins?"

"He is not just Master and I am not just his right-hand man. We are best friends. He knows that I do not mean him any ill by gossiping. Although, it probably is not healthy. He knows, though, that I am thoroughly on edge with him and that I would very much like to give him a good kick to his be-hind."

"And you blame his attitude on Maria?"

"Oh, for Allah's sake," he smacked his forehead with his palm, "do _not_ mention _her_ name!"

"So, he... he really does have affection for her? He's capable of harvesting feelings for another person?"

He slowly slid his hand down his face and stared at her with the most obvious expression ever. "_No, he feels nothing inside of him because he is a big fat rock._" She continued to look at him in astonishment. He rolled his eyes and bellowed, "Of _course _he loves her, you foolish female! What, you think that everything he said was a _lie? _You believe that night on the tower with her meant _nothing _to him?" He gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. "Honestly, did you _really_ think he held no place for her in his heart?"

"I...I don't-"

"Every night," Malik moaned, "I hear him saying her name in his sleep. Every day, he stares out the window of his study, hoping that she'd come riding in those gates. And every afternoon, he sits on his bed, staring at the floor, his face obviously showing who he's thinking about. And after midnight, he goes into the bathhouse, and little does he know that his voice echoes off of the walls. The novices and I hear him, moaning for her and mumbling her name over and over again, saying that he wishes he could hold her once more, to see her beautiful face, to seal her lips with his own, and to have their bedtime rolly-polly story together! _Allah!_ We've even caught him holding a pillow to himself during the night with his lips smoldering the poor thing while saying her name! You mean to tell you think he does not care for her?"

She sat, completely in shock at what he said. She was even clutching both armrests of her chair and was recoiled. She was wide-eyed and tongue-tied. _He... what? He... WHAT?_

_"_O-oh.." she whispered. She didn't know what else to say. How could that man who had been so cruel and rude to her hide something like this?

But, it all made sense. Before Maria, he _was_ rude and cruel to _anyone_. But she had changed him, had made him an actual person with feelings and emotions. And he had loved her for it and for who she was. It was all clear now. He chose not to show his thoughts for her freely because he was afraid. He was afraid of the emotion, yet he was addicted to it. He was addicted to loving her, but he did not have her. It drove him mad, day and night. It wasn't just fear though. He was protecting her. If the Assassins knew what their Master was doing, that he was brooding, then they must have known the reason why. It'd occurred for a year, they _must_ know. And since he did not outright say to anyone that he loved Maria so much that he would give his life for her, no one knew for sure besides the ones he told. But what was he protecting her from? They were all Brothers, did he not trust them?

Then it hit her. They were loyal to him, yes, but they were not loyal to Maria. They would see her as an intrusion not only in his life, but also theirs. He was meant to rule them, not be tied down to a woman. As long as people still saw women as useless weights meant to birth them healthy sons, then their being together would be a sin to them. And if it threatened them, who'd be to say what would happen? Altair was just one man, and though he held much power as being at the top of the food chain, it was impossible for one man to take on an army of Assassins. They would probably restrain him and set off to find and kill Maria and any who defended her. It would eliminate the threat to Masyaf while also destroying any chance of humanity for the Master. He was protecting her all this time. No, he was protecting her and her friends that would be ready to sacrifice themselves for her. How could she not have seen this?

It was because of that man that she herself was still alive. You could run from an Assassin, but you could never hide. They'd find their target, one way or another, even if it meant spilling the blood of thousands. But wouldn't that destroy their Creed and taint their ways if they were to kill innocents?

No. He wasn't protecting Maria, or those she cared about. It was all part of a bigger picture. He was protecting humanity. He knew the full Hell his kind was capable of unleashing on civilizations. He knew all along. He had stayed true to his purpose: to have peace be embraced upon the people. He had taken it all upon himself to see his dream come true one day. He was dying, slowly, on the inside from her absence. And all for what he believed in.

It was remarkable. Honorable, definitely. He was struggling to hold himself together, to not leave Masyaf and find his _habibi_. And all she had done was drag him down and claim that he did not love her and that he had no feelings for Maria. How foolish she was! How could she have been so blind to not see that he would always, even in death, love that woman?

"What are you thinking about?" Malik asked. He had finished his drink and meal and was staring at her deeply. Her face was so peculiar, as if it was taking in all the knowledge in the world. Wide brown eyes were staring hard at the table, widening even further after each realization she made. They seemed ready to burst from their sockets at any given time.

"Everything," she mumbled. She finally blinked and looked at him with a worried face on. "He's withering away, Malik. Soon he will not even be fit to lead, and then... and then..."

"The Assassins will target Maria and put her down," he finished simply. "Now you understand. I do not hate that woman; I am annoyed that one person is able to bring down our whole clan. Altair seemed so fit to lead us in the beginning, before he had left for Cyprus, mind you. He was ready to turn us in a new direction, to face the disagreements from our Brothers and to take all the responsibility of each Assassin into his own hands. We spent a month reading through our previous Master's documents, deciding what we needed to change and add to the guild. It was so strange. He'd be up all night, writing on parchments and jotting down ideas. I'd more than once had to come into his room and practically throw him and tie him down in his bed to make sure he'd get proper rest. But he would never listen. As soon as I'd leave, he'd sneak off to his study just like a child would and bury his nose in another book. But, of course, we never finished. There are still many pages we need to look through, so much more documents and ideas to create." He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Does this mean I am to apologize to him?" She didn't like the idea one bit. She was stubborn by nature and would have loved to receive an apology from him first, even if it was a brief 'sorry' with no meaning behind it. Just him taking the time to say the words to her would satisfy her slightly. But she doubted that'd be the case.

"What do you think?" He smirked and closed his eyes. "You _were_ awfully rude to him."

"Need I repeat what I've been through while staying at this lovely spot?"

"No, no, please. I've heard it from you before. But now you know why we were such a way to you. We do not _give _information out, Hildegard. You must learn it here. Information learned is more valuable than information given, is it not?"

"So it was not a matter of trust?"

"Oh, it was, it was. But the fact that you did not run with your tail between your legs when you first saw the Master proved to us that you were serious about what you wanted. He doesn't exactly have a welcoming presence."

"I can guess that's why he's perfect for Maria," she chuckled. He grunted and rolled his eyes beneath his lids.

"So, you will treat him with more respect?"

She pondered over her answer. What she had learned over the past few minutes had definitely changed her perspective on the man. She adapted to the information, and if she did not, she would not be able to cope with herself. She'd always be having a 'what if' war inside of her brain. And she _survived _because she _adapted_. Was Malik trying to give another example?

"I will... reconsider my choice of words around him. But I will _not_ bow down and kiss the floor he walks on."

Malik chuckled and shook his head, opening his eyes again. "We will only force you to lick the floor if the servants are not cleaning it properly."

Hildegard laughed, but the giggle soon died down when the man remained silent. She cleared her throat nervously and asked, "You _are_ jesting, correct?"

Malik merely smiled and chose not to speak.

* * *

It'd be another two days before he reached Acre. Shihad, who was formerly called Farug, was in a cheerful mood, happy to be galloping with his master on his back. Altair was thankful that his Brothers had taken the opportunity to restock his saddle bag with bandages and ointment if he wounded himself. It was an honorable faction he served, truly.

"_Ada'tu tareeqi,_ Shihad," he murmured in the animal's ear. "She's always haunting me. I see her... everywhere."

The horse merely grunted and kept running. Altair sighed and closed his eyes, bringing his head to the side of the beast's neck.

Why couldn't she have just _stayed_? Why couldn't his letters claiming his feelings for her have been delivered? And why couldn't Malik have given him her letters that she sent him? What did they even say? Was she missing him? Was she in good health? Did she never want to see him again?

_She_ wouldn't see him, if that was the case. But _he_ would see her. And if he saw her in the arms of another man, he would personally make it clear to that bastard that she was already taken by _him._

Was she not his? They hadn't married, but they had claimed each other. Before her, there was no one he had done _it_ with, not even Adha. Yes, she was beautiful and quiet; the perfect wife for any man. But she was lacking personality and attitude that Maria had. And so he was willing to let her take him.

_He_ was the one who broke her barrier. _He_ was the man who had felt her warm and curvy body underneath his. _He_ was the Assassin who had kissed her and suckled on that delicious muscle in her mouth until she moaned and begged for more. Although he did hate referring to others as property, _she was his!_ Simply put. Yes, _it_ was awkward, but it was not desperate like they were both trying to find anyone to pleasure them. If he was that desperate for intimacy, he'd have picked up one of those beggars on the street and provided them with a proper bed. But he was not desperate. He was in love with her, _wanted and needed _her. They were two nervous lovers, eager to have each other, but it was all pure. The way her eyes looked into his told him that she felt something deep and warm for him, that she'd want to spend the rest of her life with him.

Did his eyes tell her that? Did he look at her softly? His face was always cast in a stern and unfriendly frown. It wasn't natural for him to have soft and kind eyes. But were they for her? Maybe he had glared at her and that's why she never came back. Maybe he had hurt her?

Well, yes, she _did_ bleed down there, but didn't every woman on the first time? He'd heard conversations in pubs while eavesdropping about men 'rocking the bed', as they had put it. So, yes, it was normal for a woman to bleed. Hymens naturally bled once they were torn.

Did she not _like_ him inside of her? What if she didn't even...

Or maybe he had gone too fast too soon. How was he supposed to restrain himself though? Hormones were more powerful than will. And it was not like he forced her. She had written him that letter that practically screamed that she had seen him as more than a comrade. He was her lover, and he wanted to pleasure her. But what if he did it all wrong?

He would have loved to blame the fact that he had lacked experience in that field, but he couldn't complain about it. If he gave himself away to a different woman, he probably would have felt so guilty and ashamed of himself when he had loved Maria. It'd be as if she wouldn't have him completely, only a small fragment of him since he would have had already lost his virginity.

He didn't like this feeling of uncertainty. It was weak, and being unconfident wasn't exactly something he was familiar with. He had pride, maybe too much, but he had learned to bottle it and to use it respectfully. But _dammit_, why couldn't he have known what she was feeling that night?

What if he was the only one that had reached the height of pleasure and emotion? What if he had reached the top of the peak _alone_, and Maria was bored to tears? That would explain why she was crying a little.

He didn't even have the chance to say the three words he had wanted to tell her the most. But actions were louder than words. Surely she knew?

But what if she was not good at taking hints like that? What if she was waiting to see if he would have the courage to say it? Truth be told, he didn't know whether or not he should have said anything. Didn't she know that she was the only one he'd lie with? No, she didn't know that, because he never alluded to the fact that he had zero, zilch, and squat experience with women. It all led back to _him_ not saying what he should have said. _Dammit!_

He should have just told her after they had regained their breath. He should have just said what he wanted to say to her instead of removing himself from her and putting his clothes back on. He just left her there, laying in the hay like some forgotten toy. She wasn't a toy though. She was his _jameela_, his one and only. And only when he had leapt off the tower and into the hay below and had touched solid ground with his leather-booted feet had he said the words. _Said them to no one, that was._

He had drastically hurt their fragile relationship. What if she was now convinced that she _was_ just a toy to him? What if she thought that he had seventy-two virgins waiting back at home for him to return? _No, no, no!_ He only had himself to blame, but he couldn't stand that fact. He wished that he'd be able to tell her. He didn't care how he said it, as long as he said it to her. Even if it was all rushed and his face scarlet, he wouldn't care. He just needed her to know.

But she'd never be able to know. She was out of his life, gone and done with now.

* * *

Maria cracked her knuckles, and then shifted her head from side to side, sighing when the bones finally popped. "Now then," she said with a sweetly fake tone, "the next one who comments on my bust size will end up like _him_." She kicked at a man on the ground clutching his private regions and groaning in pain. She had to admit, taverns were a great way to release stress. There were just so many drunk men that wanted to put on a clumsy fight, and she _loved_ showing them that women were perfectly capable of defending themselves. And she was not the type of woman to be meek and cower in the presence of fat ugly men. She was fearless, if a bit foolish.

When no one in the smelly tavern had given her an answer, she smirked and walked out of the door. She spent two days idling around Acre with her hood pulled over her head. The only thing entertaining she had found were the stupid men filling up the pubs. It pleased her to no end when she threw one of them over her head and at a wall, or how she'd punch their teeth out until they fell onto the floor. And of course, she imagined each man to be that dreadful Assassin: Altair Ibn-La'Ass-Head.

Two days had past, and it was still as depressing as ever. Clouds were still blocking the sun, the people were still homeless and plagued with disease, and, her personal favorite, the guards were still brick-headed idiots.

She walked on, keeping her head down. She had no luck in finding their allies, so she had figured if they were expecting them, _they_ would find _her_. At least, she hoped she was correct. She may have been completely wrong and she didn't exactly have all the time in the world. Olivia would probably have her fingers chopped off since she was an archer, Aden would most likely be beaten, and Zaina-

Of course Zaina would not have been hurt at all. It made her furious. The girl was so weak and easy to manipulate. Just raising the whip and not even bringing it down on her would have her spilling information out about their Order in no time. It was ridiculous. Damiel was probably facing much more serious pain than a simple whip.

She didn't want to think what her friend was going through. Whatever it was, it was sure to scar him.

Maria sighed and ducked left into a narrow street. There weren't many people, maybe one or two outside of their broken houses, which was a huge relief for her. Even though her face was not showing, she still felt as if the guards knew who she was.

There was a hunched over figure making its way towards her. She wasn't sure if it was just passing by, or if it meant to start conversation. She was not in the mood to speak idly just to pass the time. And whoever this person was smelled _awful_. She could smell the stench all the way from where she was, and she was a good thirteen or so yards away from him.

Maria slowed her pace down, waiting to see what the cloaked man would do. Her muscles tensed and she was ready to burst into action if need be. She doubted that he caused any threat to her, but it never hurt to be too careful.

Well, if you were Sibrand, then it hurt.

The thing shuffled closer to her until it was standing directly in front of her, blocking her path. She looked down on it, making sure her face was still concealed in the hood. It was probably the most horrid sight she had ever seen. She refused to even call it human, for it was just incredibly ghastly.

It raised its head to look at her, its hood falling back, revealing greasy and oily skin. It had a beard that was unkempt and- were those _insects?-_ teeth missing from its puckered and scrunched mouth. She gulped, waiting to see what it wanted.

First, it wheezed, and then it dug its hand into its pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. The thing did not say anything, only thrusted the paper into her own hand and walked away in a hurry, looking back and forth to see if anyone saw its transaction with the woman.

Maria stood with the grimy paper in her hand, not knowing what to do. After a few seconds, she looked back over her shoulder to demand that he returned and explain himself, but he was already gone. She shoved the paper into her own pouch and nervously walked at a brisk pace into an alley. Once she was sure no one had followed her and she was alone, she took out the paper and began reading it.

_Dear M,_

_Meet me at the place you hate yet loved the most._

_-D._

It confused her. She knew that she was the '_M'_, but who was '_D'_? She searched her brain for those that she knew whose names began with that letter, and soon she had the answer.

'_Damiel? He—__he _escaped? _He's here, in Acre?'_ She smiled from underneath the hood and pocketed the letter. The letter was even in his handwriting; he _had_ to be here! But then she thought of the location he wished to rendezvous with her. '_A place I hate yet loved the most?'_ She bit her lip as she realized what he meant.

The tower. He wanted her to go to the tower. This late, though? It was already deep into the evening, the barely visible sun going down. She shook her head and began walking southwest to the stronghold. Of course he would want to meet her there! He had only been in Acre a couple of times and was not familiar with any other spot other than the one that she had told him about. Of course! That must be why he suggested that place!

The sun was already gone from the world when she reached what used to belong to William de Montferrat. She stood in front of the stronghold, looking at its exterior walls. She remembered how she had looked at those walls with admiration and uncertainty when Altair had let her return to Acre. It all seemed so distant now. Had a year really past between their coupling?

She gave a soft smile at the walls and stepped through the raised gate leading into the interior courtyard. She stood in the center of the courtyard, taking in the view. It really hadn't changed at all, it seemed. There were still practice dummies made out of leather and hay stationed at each corner, crates and barrels still littering the stone floor. And of course, guards still patrolled the ramparts and base level.

What really caught her attention was how the guards looked at her with a devilish smirk on their faces as they walked past her in their small squadrons. Even though her face was thoroughly shielded, she did not feel at ease. It was as if they knew who she was and were taunting her. But what for?

'_Nevermind that. Once you find Damiel, we can get the Hell out of here and... then what? What will we do?'_ She sighed and looked up to her right at the looming tower ahead of her. It was still the same as that night with _him_.

But she was not the same. She felt dread inside of her every time she thought of him, and now, staring at that tower, it tore her to pieces. She stared at it, wondering if he had come back to Acre just to do as she was. Of course he wouldn't, what was she thinking? He had no feelings for her, he never did. He had used her and seduced her just to pleasure himself. It was just a tower of brick to him, nothing else.

It was strange how this city had changed her life. It was where he had taken her hostage, bringing her to Cyprus with him as his way to weaken the Templars, and also where they had made love. How could it be that this place that hadn't changed in the least bit had rearranged all of her thoughts and feelings? When Altair was chasing after her as she ran as fast as she could to the tower, her heart was pounding. She had never felt so _alive _before- never felt so excited. And now, she felt miserable.

"_Psst! Psst psst!"_

The sudden sound caused her to perk her head up and shook her from her thoughts. She swiveled her head to the left where the noise was coming from. She squinted her eyes, trying to see through the dark shadows. She couldn't see anyone. Was it all her imagination?

But, no, it wasn't. The noise repeated itself, and she could vaguely make out the outline of a person.

'_Damiel? Is that you?'_ She took a cautious step forward and she could have sworn she saw the outline motion her forward before it turned on its heel and ventured further into the shadows. Maria scanned the buildings bordering the narrow path that the person had just disappeared into. There weren't any guards on patrol on the rooftops there. She turned her head to the other side to make sure that none of the guards on the ground were near her.

The coast was clear, she was alone. She nodded in determination and followed the mysterious figure. She stopped halfway down the narrow corridor and focused her gaze to the right at a decorated door. Was this where Damiel had gone? She tried to pull it open, but it was locked from the inside. No, he wasn't in there. She shook her head and resumed her pace. Maria paused when she reached the end of the corridor. She stared at a wooden door that was wide open that led into the interior of the ramparts. Was this where he was?

"_Psst! Pssssst!"_

She nodded to herself and walked through the door. She gently closed it, but winced when it creaked slightly from being moved. Once it clicked shut, she took in her bearings. There were candles placed here and there that illuminated the hallways. It was a regular armory, racks of swords to the sides, chainmail plates on the walls, knives on cluttered and splintered tables, and quivered arrows resting beside them. Why would Damiel wish to meet here?

The sound repeated itself again and she grumbled to herself. "I'm coming, I'm coming..."

She took light steps, careful not to make too much noise and to not bump any of the equipment on the floor. She knew that metal clanged against stone, and just that could set the entire fortress into action and have her running for her life in seconds. The _psst!_ sound guided her throughout the armory and down several flights of stairs. What the Devil was he trying to do?

The more she went, the more nervous she became. She couldn't help but to think that someone was following her. She risked a look over her shoulder but only saw black. The candles were being blown out one by one as she past them. Maria gulped, not liking her situation at all.

Part of her told her it was a trap. The other part told her it was just Damiel playing tricks on her. He'd pranked her before, she knew that. But to go this far to scare her considerably?

She breathed in and out of her mouth, sweat starting to form on her face. Her eyes darted about, but she could only see forward. The sound finally stopped once she entered a room. There was a grand bed fit for a king right in front of her that took up most of the space, lavish furniture with flickering candles on either side of the room. She was confused that there were curtains, yet no windows. Of course there wouldn't be windows. She was underground, after all, underneath the ocean that surrounded Acre.

The candles didn't do a wonderful job lighting the chamber up, yet it was enough for her to make out everything. She swept her gaze carefully around and frowned when there was no one else in the room besides herself. Maybe Damiel was trying to give her a fright. Yes, that had to be it.

Maria did not notice that in the doorway behind her stood another person.

* * *

"I said _stay, yla'an!" _Altair hissed as Shihad trotted in circles around him. They had arrived at Acre half an hour ago; half an hour of trying to get the damn horse to be obedient. He growled and grabbed the reins and yanked his head down to his level so that their foreheads were pressed together. Altair glared furiously into the animal's eyes before snarling, "_You. Stay. HERE."_ Giving one final firm tug to the reins, he stormed away into a group of scholars to enter the city unnoticed.

Once he past the guards on duty near the gates, he set off at a sprint to the Assassin's Bureau at the southeast corner of the Poor District. He heard and ignored the usual "why's he doing that?", and the "he's going to hurt himself- and when he does, _I won't help him."_ It was exactly the same as a year ago, if worse. There were more people homeless, more houses ruined. Ever since the Christians moved in and called Acre home, the place had been steadily falling deeper and deeper into the pits of Hell.

His sprint came to a gentle stop once he was standing in front of the ladder that led to the roof of the Bureau. Should he even go in? He knew his mission, he knew where the hostage was being kept and he knew the fortress well enough. He was the Master, after all, did he even need permission? He dug the toe of his boot into the cobblestones and frowned as he thought. Something didn't feel right. He wasn't sure if it was just because of being in the city that caused him to be on full alert. It was just a city, just like Damascus and Jerusalem. He shouldn't have been feeling this way.

But it was Acre. _Acre_. It was _his_ and _her_ city. It was their secret; their paradise. He knew that Malik would scream at him and throw a book at his head if he knew the decision he made. Grunting, he padded away from the building and ran south towards the stronghold. He didn't need a rafik to give him permission to carry out a mission he already had knowledge on. And if they had a complaint, he would hear them out and explain himself. But he would leave out how every hair on his body stood straight up and how his skin prickled with anticipation. He wouldn't tell his fellow Brothers that sweat was slowly trickling down the back of his neck or that he repeatedly checked to see if his hidden blade was still operable. No, he wouldn't tell them any of that.

He stood outside of the walls, staring long and hard at them. It was these walls that she had run off in and that he had chased her through. He slowly entered the raised gates. He let his feet do as they pleased. It was as if they were independent from his body- that they had their own mind. He was climbing up houses, leaping from raised platforms, climbing a ladder, and climbing... climbing...

_Their_ tower. His body reacted on its own, he couldn't help himself. His hands found bricks jutting out of the structure, his feet keeping in rhythm with his small leaps to higher ground. He stood on a balcony, hoisted himself onto a lamppost, and continued his ascent. It was all so strange. _He_ felt strange. It wasn't the way he had felt when he was going after Maria. His hormones had taken over him, clearly, then. This time... things were different. He felt a nagging at the back of his mind, screaming at him to get off of the tower. It was danger. But he couldn't place it.

No one was on top of the tower.

His feet finally hit solid ground and he breathed in deeply. It was only him up here. There wasn't even any hay left from their love-making. Nothing. Only him.

He slowly turned his head to the side of the tower that faced the ocean; where _she_ had stood, waiting for him. No one. She wasn't there.

Altair took cautious steps towards where he remembered her last and wrapped his arms around the air. He held nothing, but he held everything. He did his best to picture his beloved cradled against him, her own arms snaking around his sides to bring him closer. It was painful trying to revive her into his life once more, but he could not stop. It was his closure, and if it hurt, then so be it. He did not think twice about his mission in Acre, only knew that he had to carry it out. He didn't think that he would be affected in such a way; that his mind would force him to do something as foolish as he was already doing.

Altair sighed and closed his eyes. He would do anything for Maria's warmth once more. To Hell with any mission he was given. _She_ was his only target, his only gold light.

His eyes shot open and he whirled around when a peculiar sound reached his ears from the courtyard. He peered over the edge of the tower and narrowed his eyes. Although it was dark, he could make out a cloaked figure turning right and left, trying to find the source of the sound. After a few seconds, when everything was silent, he began doubting he even heard anything.

_But then it sounded again!_

_"Psst!"_

There was no mistaking it. The cloaked figure slowly made a left and proceeded to follow the sound. Was it a Templar? Was it an ally? Or was it just some common citizen?

His heart slammed in his chest as he considered another possibility. _Was it.. Maria?_

Altair quickly shook the idea out from his head. No, she was in England, far, far away from him. She had no reason to be here. _But, what if..?_

'_Whoever it was, they're leading me straight where I want to go.'_ The Assassin did a thorough scan of the ramparts. There were guards, but he would easily dispatch of them. He pulled himself on the side of the tower and leapt into the cart of hay below, ready to take on his mission.

* * *

Maria sighed and rolled her eyes when she heard footsteps approaching from behind her. "Finally," she said as she closed her eyes and turned around, "it's good to see that you're alive, Dam-"

"It's a pleasure to see you as well, _Maria_."

Her heart froze and her eyes flew open as she stared with a pale face at the man before her. Due to the poor lighting in the room, she couldn't make out his features entirely, but he was certainly _not Damiel_. She held her ground as her former gawking blossomed into a frightful glare. She rested both of her hands on the hilts of Ebony and Ivory, ready to attack should the man prove a threat.

He chuckled and shook his head. "My, my, just as fierce as the brother," he mused. He took a small step toward her that caused her to take one back.

She furrowed her eyebrows together and bared her teeth at him. "_Earl of Gloucestershire,"_ she hissed at him. "I should have known _you_ joined the Templar ranks." She briefly looked at his tunic that held the Templar emblem on it, just as hers used to.

Earl laughed and let his eyes roam over her body. She was standing in the direct candlelight now, and he could see how her strong yet feminine body swelled out from beneath her cloak and tunic. "Maria of London," he stated casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or, should I say, Maria of _Canterbury?_"

"What do—"

"You've caused us a great deal of trouble lately, did you know that?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval, as if she was a child. She growled at him and opened her mouth to retort, but he quickly silenced her with his own voice. "First you and that _Assassin_ decide to partner up- and in ways more than one- and chose to kill off our Brothers. Then you return from your travels and decide to go into hiding for a year." His voice grew harsher after each accusation and his face shriveled into a disgusting snarl. "And then, you foil our attempt at marriage between you and Clarence. And _now_, you stand before me, wondering what I want."

"_Then out with it, dog." _She tightened her hold on both of her swords' hilts as he let out a menacing laughter. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight—"

"_I want _you_," _he rasped out. He sounded desperate, as if he hadn't had release in ten years. Maria took another step back and looked absolutely enraged from his confession.

"_The only thing you'll have from me," _she ground out, "_is my sword through your heart."_

His look of longing and hunger vanished from his eyes. Instead, an arrogant and victorious smirk appeared on his face. "No, I do believe you are mistaken," he murmured. She turned her head to the side in question, but soon was answered as two burly and muscular men entered the room from behind Earl, dragging a beaten and bloody body with them.

One of the men lifted the person's head up by their black as midnight hair so that she'd be able to see the captive clearly.

She couldn't help but to gasp as she stared at a face she hadn't seen in over a decade. It was so similar to her own.

Earl nodded and tapped his foot, his smirk growing wider on his face. "Ahh, so he _is_ your sibling," he purred. "But was there ever a doubt?" he asked himself quietly. "After all, it's so significant and extraordinary how alike you two look- not to insult your.. _femininity._"

Maria shook silently in rage and stared back and forth between Earl and the captive. "_Let him go."_

Earl laughed once more and slapped his leg. "You really think that that's a possibility?" He stooped down to the beaten man's level and grabbed his chin in one hand, the other resting casually on his own knee. "Jonathan Thorpe here has proved _extremely_ difficult to capture. Oh, how many countries did we scour? Ten? Twelve? As an Assassin, it's his nature to hide from us. It doesn't matter now," he said quickly. "Tell me, Maria, do you value his life?"

"Yes," she growled.

"Do you love your brother?"

"Yes," she said with much loathing once more.

"Would you give your body up for his safety?"

It was silent for several moments, the tension practically tangible. His eyes bore into her as she trembled, not from his gaze, but from what she knew that was going to happen. Her own gaze was settled on her brother, her expression full of fear and uncertainty. She loved John. She loved what was left of her broken and confused family with all of her heart.

When she did not give an answer, Earl produced a knife from his belt around his tunic and held it to John's throat. Maria stared at her relative. He was only wearing britches that were torn and stained with his own blood. His chest, arms, neck, and even face were marred with cuts and bruises. Dried blood was everywhere on his skin. It was so sickening, so _disgusting_. She had not seen him in fourteen years, ever since she believed him to be dead. And here he was, barely alive, in front of her, his life on the line, and she was the only one who'd be able to save him. She never imagined that this would be the way she would reunite with him.

She took a deep breath and whispered, "Yes."

Earl's eyes lit up in anticipation from the answer and he slowly sheathed his knife and stood to his full height. He jerked his head to his two men and they hauled the man away, his legs dragging against the hard stones. "If you try to combat me," he hissed at Maria once the men were gone, "then his life will end in a heartbeat. _Understand?"_

She slowly nodded as he closed the door behind him, never taking his eyes off of her. "Drop your swords," he commanded. She did as he said and unbuckled her two blades from her side. She threw them off to the side, her hatred and enmity showing through her seething grey eyes. "Take your cloak off."

Maria untied the garment from her neck and let it fall to the floor behind her. He smiled as she obeyed his commands and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now your belt."

And soon her belt had joined her cloak. She balled her hands into fists and kept them firmly at her sides, her knuckles turning white. His eyes flared with amusement and his mouth twisted into a gruesome and perverted sneer. "Now your tunic."

She slowly grabbed hold of one of her sleeves and pulled her arm towards herself. The cloth fell limp at her side, and she repeated the process with the other sleeve, being careful not to show any of her flesh to him. He sighed impatiently as she bunched her bare arms inside of her shirt in front of her breast bindings and began pulling the tunic off and over her head. She halted in her actions when she heard him groan in irritation.

"_You're too slow,"_ he moaned. And no sooner had he launched himself at Maria and tackled her to the bed, ripping the tunic off of her with his now unsheathed knife. She gasped, but soon growled at him and bared her teeth at him in defense. It was a poor way to protect herself, to show her pride and defiance, but if she fought him off of her, John would be lost forever.

Earl crushed his lips against her own tightly sealed ones as he ripped her hair from the braid and bun holding it up. He darted his tongue out, trying desperately to separate her lips so he could have entrance to her mouth. But she wouldn't have it.

He growled and brought the knife to her breast bindings, running it down from her collarbone and to her naval. He applied too much pressure to the blade, though. It cut through the bindings but also sliced her skin in the process, leaving an angry line in its wake that slowly oozed blood out. She whined from the pain and tensed her body from underneath his.

He tossed the now ruined bindings to the side and let his hands feel her exposed breasts. She scrunched her face up and her eyebrows knitted together, the nerves in her forehead protruding.

Earl seemed amused from her being so rebellious and how she had not the power to hurt him. _It was delicious._

He pulled her boots off of her and then tugged her britches to her ankles, snarling in irritation when yet another piece of fabric hid what he desired the most from her. The knife soon traveled down from her hip to hack away at the undergarment. Once it was sliced in two, he pulled it off of her and ferociously broke his unsatisfying kiss. He let his knees rest on either side of her and stared hungrily at her naked body. He gazed at the soft mounds in front of him and at their peaks. He licked his lips as his eyes ventured lower to the dark tuft of hair hiding her most prized possession from him. _He would have to fix that._

He smirked at her and quickly shed his own clothing. He soon knelt there wearing nothing but his own skin. Maria turned her head away from the sight of him. The only man that she would _ever_ gaze at while wearing nothing was her eagle.

The thought of him brought a pang of sorrow to her heart. If he had only chased after her, she wouldn't be under _this_ man, and instead be under _him._ _He _would have never treated her this way while being intimate.

Earl's face darkened as he saw her turn away from him. He growled and threw himself on her once more, assaulting her lips with his own. She dug her nails into the sheets and curled her lips inside of her mouth, not letting his tongue taste her own.

He shrieked from her behavior and brought his hand down to the juncture between her thighs. His fingers curled around and clenched the hair there, and in one swift and strong tug, he had torn a handful of it from the sensitive skin.

Maria screamed from the pain and tears slid from her eyes as something wet and disgusting entered her mouth, moving against the muscle there. Her eyes blazed with anger and she bit down hard on his tongue and allowed him to bring his head away from her own. He howled and set his face in a mask of hatred. He cupped her chin in one hand, holding her mouth open and restricting her from chomping down on him, and entered once more. She groaned and shut her eyes, not wanting to see his satisfied smirk.

His other hand parted two folds of skin between her legs. He let his fingers explore this territory, pinching and fondling the sensitive nerve there. She screamed once more from her defenseless state and from being taken so easily.

He ran his knife up and down her body, leaving cuts on her stomach and legs. He let the tip of the blade glide against her underarms and to each of her wrists, relishing from hearing her whimper and scream from the agony.

Maria bucked her knees up into his stomach, earning an _oof!_ from him. While he was temporarily stunned, she brought her legs back together, making sure his hands would not be able to feel her bud anymore. Earl snarled once more, frothing at the mouth, and dug the blade into her thigh. She shut her eyes and cried out and strained the muscles in her neck, trying to will the pain away. She opened her eyes once more to see an incoming blow to her face. His fist connected with her forehead, and then another punch hit her square in the jaw. Her head lolled to the side. She struggled to keep her eyes open as her blood loss and abuse from his hands caused her vision to blur and falter.

He beat her until she gasped and her eyes remained shut, her shallow breathing the only thing audible. He spat at her face and separated her legs, the knife still embedded in her thigh. He crouched lower to her and positioned himself over her opening.

* * *

Altair let his instincts guide him through the darkened interior of the stronghold. He slowly walked as his pupils dilated, guiding him through the black abyss. He had normally stood still while using this sixth sense, but over time, he had learned to multitask the unique ability with his movement. However, he had to pace himself extremely slow. After some time, it took a toll on its muscles, and he was in the enemy's territory. He couldn't risk collapsing unconscious in dangerous territory.

The place was empty, save for a few guards helping themselves to a drink or two. Some were even so drunk they couldn't walk. He quickly made short work of them and continued to search for the captive. White strands of light shown from each doorway, the shimmering strings soon dissolving into nothing.

The farther he went, the more paranoid and fearful he became. _Fearful of what, though?_

Finally, after descending staircase after staircase, he had reached a door that had gold ribbons shining off of it. He slowly smirked, but soon frowned when he heard strange noises from coming in the room. He quietly padded closer and turned his head so that his ear was facing the doorway.

Was that... _screaming_? Was someone being beaten in there?

He narrowed his eyes and slowly turned the handle and entered the room. He was thankful that the door did not make any sound that would have given away his presence. The Templars must have been very careful oiling the hinges. He willed his gift to leave his vision and looked to the source of the noise.

What he saw confused him and had him recoil his head back.

There, on the bed, was a man atop a woman, readying himself to slide his manhood into her. Had he just walked in on a husband and wife coupling? He frowned and let the four colors that guided his decisions swarm back into his eyes. He stretched the fingers on his left hand when the man started producing a scarlet glow around his figure and when the woman began to have a gold shimmer around herself.

_The captive was being assaulted!_

In a heartbeat, Altair strode over to the man and let his hidden blade plunge into his back and through his heart.

Once he gurgled and his eyes dimmed to a lifeless stare, Altair pushed the man off of the woman and down on the floor, letting his blood soak up the stones. He immediately made his way over to the side of the bed and inspected the victim.

Her blood was everywhere: her arms, legs, stomach, face, hair, everything. He whispered a silent prayer for her and brought his index and middle finger to her neck. There was the faintest of heartbeats. Altair sighed in defeat and gently stroked the curly black hair, thick with blood, away from her red and swelled face. He shook his head and craned his neck down. Letting an innocent target die was always a defeat. He had failed missions before while he was still a youth, but to butcher a mission while being the best of the best? It was heartbreaking. But he knew that she at least deserved to be cleaned and to have a proper burial. No one deserved to bleed to death and have their body left like hers was.

He tore a piece of his robe and dug a vial of water from one of his pouches. He poured the liquid on the cloth and dabbed her face, wiping away the blood and sweat. '_Peace be upon you in the afterlife, friend.'_

Altair cleaned her face of the red liquid and frowned when he was finished. She looked strangely familiar. Did he know her? The thought of knowing the dying woman in front of him pained him. He peeled back one of her eyelids and gazed into grey pools that were almost diminished of life.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized they were so much like _her _eyes—if not identical.

'_Could it be...? NO.'_ He wiped his face with his hand and shook his head. She was in England. She wasn't in Acre.

_'But, what if...'_

He tenderly lifted her head up by the back of her neck pushed away the hair away from her. He let his free hand trace under her left ear, where he knew a scar should have been if it was _her_.

His index finger felt smooth yet puckered skin and he took a closer examination. Right under the lobe of her ear was a curved, faded line that resembled the letter 'J'. It reached all the way to the top of her jaw. Altair instantly recoiled his hand back as if he had been burned. His heart pounded in his chest and his breathing was strained. _Allah..._

He cupped her face in his hands and brought himself as close to her as possible, their foreheads and noses touching. _It couldn't be..._

"_Maria...?"_ he whispered.

* * *

Translations:

_Dije = _I said

_MYRUHT KOUNEH! = _Fuck your mother!

_EEM BLIGES DZE-DZE! = _suck my penis!

_KAK OUDELIC SHOON, TOON ESH! =_ Shit eating dog, you donkey (ass)!

_GULEER KELOOH! = _Penis face (dick head)!

_PERANUHT SHUNE KAKNEH! = _The dog should shit on you!

_SHAN TULA! =_ Son of a bitch!

_EIM BLIGIS KO KURI VERA! =_ My penis on your sister!

_DZEVERET KE KETREM, RAGATKOV GELXEET KE KERAKEM! = _I'll rip your nuts off and fling them to your face with a slingshot!

_LE MATARÉ! = _I will kill you!

_USTED MORIRÁ POR LAS GARRAS DE UN ÁGUILA, USTED CAGÓ! =_ You will die by the talons of an eagle, you shit!

_ESPERO DEMANDA DE MIL HOMBRES USTED EN CAMA, SU ESPOSA HACE UNA PUTA, SU HIJA PIERDE SU VAGINA, Y SUS HERMANOS JUEGAN CON LOS PECHOS DE SU ABEULA! =_ I hope a thousand men take you in bed, your wife becomes a whore, your daughter loses her vagina, and your brothers play with your grandmother's breasts!

_BASTARDO, BASTARDO, BASTARDO! =_ Bastard, bastard, bastard!

_Habibi_ = dear/darling/sweetie

_Jameela =_ beautiful (female)

_Ada'tu tareeqi_ = I'm lost

_yla'an = _dammit (*rough translation)


	15. Chapter 11

Had this halfway completed, so I decided to finish it. Chapter 11, -insertKoolAidManOHYEAHHHhere-

Hem hem, ANYWAYS. Gotta give credit where it's due.

The 'my ass is twitching' scene between Hildegard and Malik does not belong to me. I came up with the idea after watching one of my favorite movies, French Kiss (HILAAARIIIOUUSSS), and the idea just slowly came to mind. I'll put the link in my profile for those of you who are interested in seeing the short clip.

Now, I have a lot of work to do. School starts in a couple of weeks, I gotta get cracking on some homework I've been putting off just to work on this story. So, yeah, won't be hearing much from me. Like I said before, Christmas is the best time for me to work on this, soo... wait a few months XD

Cheers to MJ and Christina for being my editors.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is, like those Finding Nemo gulls say, MINE MINE MINE!

**And for those of you who are wondering about who in the name of pita bread is Jonathan, it will all be revealed in due time. There are a lot of hints in my previous chapters that allude to Maria's history and also who Jonathan really is to her. You just have to look hard enough :)**

* * *

His eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth as he stared at her face. She looked so frail, so defeated...

'_No... This is sorcery_...' He couldn't bear to see her this way, if it _was_ her. He lifted her chin up delicately and scanned every centimeter of her face. He saw past the bruises and cuts on her forehead and cheeks. What he saw was the beautiful and soft features of the one he loved the most in the world.

'_It can't be__—__impossible!'_

He quickly searched her naked and bloody body for the scars and flaws he saw when they were on the tower. The same faded line was on her left hip, the same red and puckered rash on her stomach. Everything was identical to the woman he loved.

He stepped away from her and shook his head furiously. _No... this... this couldn't be!_ His face was twisted in a painful mask as he bit his bottom lip and stared at the ceiling.

A year without her. A year dying from her absence.

And here she was; _dying. _

He slid his arms around her and brought her body close to his as he closed his eyes and nestled her head into his neck with his chin. He breathed into her matted hair and ran his hand up and down her exposed back. His arms trembled as he held her. _She was so cold..._

After brief moments of embracing her, he gently held her out and inspected her injuries. His eyes wandered over to her thigh that had a knife sticking out of it. Blood was dripping from the wound and onto the sheets, staining them. _No..._

He looked around frantically for something to bandage her up with. He felt around the floor in search of her clothing, only to find that they were torn to shreds. He frowned when he picked up a rather large tunic that had a red cross stitched proudly in the center of the shirt.

'_Templars...' _His blood boiled inside of him. _How DARE they touch her! _He shook his head, vanquishing the evil and ill thoughts that threatened to enter his mind.

He turned his head over his shoulder and found his solution. Quickly making his way to the curtains, he tore them off of their hooks and began slicing them into makeshift bandages. He wouldn't be able to treat her wounds properly until he made it back to Shihad.

He gripped the hilt of the knife and slid it as carefully as he could out of her leg, making sure to cause her as little pain as possible. He glanced at her face as she groaned and knitted her eyebrows together.

"_Forgive me,"_ he whispered, "_for everything."_

Once the blade was out of her, he instantly applied pressure to the wound and wrapped the torn curtain around it tightly, restraining more blood from flowing out of it. He took more of his bandages and wound them around her arms. It was a horrid sight. He'd never thought he'd see _her_ like this in his life. This was definitely not how he had thought he'd see her again. He always expected to just pass her by in a town and have her smack his face and kick him where it hurt the most for men.

Of course, there was always his fantasy that while he slept deeply in his room back at Masyaf, she'd come sneaking in, wearing nothing but a regal fur robe, her hair down and flowing just past her shoulders. She'd wake him, slowly remove the robe so he'd be tempted to reach out and claim her feminine curves with his hands. He always imagined, whenever he felt like torturing himself by thinking of her, that she'd run her hands over his shoulders and down to his waist and untie the red sash there. She'd eventually pull his shalwars down and remove his kameez and make love to him—after she was done admiring and palming his toned chest and abdominal muscles, of course.

But no, none of that was happening. She laid there, suffering because of _him_. There was no flying fist to meet his face, nor a regal robe. Just her bloody body.

He clenched his fist and lowered his lips to her forehead, planting a gentle kiss on her.

Soon, he had her worst injuries bandaged up with the curtains. Almost all the skin on her legs was covered in the cloth, but it was necessary. The backs of her calves had deep cuts and gashes in them that would require serious attention, as well as her thigh.

He was beginning to wrap her chest with the curtain when he growled from looking at her breasts. What used to be soft, flawless, and supple mounds with two delicious pebbles on them that he loved to feel and suckle on were now wrangled and bloody ripped pieces of flesh. He breathed out of his nose in anger and hatred as he finished tending to her wounds.

Altair pulled the other curtain off of its rod and used it as a blanket for his _jameela_. He bundled her in the cloth and tucked it around her, and then tenderly scooped her up in his arms, careful not to disturb her broken body further. He padded quickly out of the room, but stopped when he past the corpse lying on the ground. He turned his head back to glare at the dead man, wishing that he could stab him a thousand times for even _touching_ her. His eyes narrowed and he growled at him as he shook with rage.

He very much wanted to mutilate his body and let his innards spill out onto the floor, but he was above that. He was not a feral dog; he was an Assassin that knew honor and respected the dead, even if they molested his Maria.

_But it was her... Maria... that his member had nearly entered..._

The option of slitting the man's throat and hanging him from _their _tower seemed a pleasing and satisfying thought. However, when blood began to seep through the curtains and onto his own robes, it became clear what was more important: humiliating a corpse, or saving Maria.

Altair took in a shaky breath, and walked out of the room, making his way out of the stronghold's interior as quietly as he could.

It fatigued him when he used his gift to navigate through the darkness while carrying her. He had to apply more energy to his muscles, which meant more of his energy being drained. On top of that, he was forced to walk even slower due to his burden. He was irritated beyond belief. He wanted to get to Shihad already, apply the ointment to her wounds, and take her back to Masyaf with him and nurse her back to health. He didn't care what Malik said on the matter. She was _his_ love, and _he_ would bring her wherever he pleased to, with or without Malik's approval.

His heart clenched in his chest when he heard her whimper quietly in his arms.

"Stay with me," he murmured into her ear, "my _bahar_." He maneuvered through the armory, finally on the base level of the fortress. He stepped over the dead bodies of the guards he had killed and carefully opened the door leading to the outside. She stirred once more in his arms as he brushed his arm against her leg while turning the handle open. He hissed through his teeth and bounded out of the door, dismissing his sixth sense from his eyes. Altair held her closer to himself as the night's chill welcomed him as he stepped foot inside the fortress' courtyard. He breathed out of his mouth, his breath visible against the icy air. He needed to get her out of there and fast. A mere curtain wouldn't shield her from the cold, and she'd only freeze more while on Shihad's back.

He kept to the shadows while he made his way back to Acre's gate. Those who saw him gave him a curious glance, but soon looked away. It wasn't uncommon to see a man scurry off with an unconscious woman in his arms; after all, crime had risen drastically in the past year.

He stopped as the gates came into view. There was no way he'd be able to pass while carrying her, even if he did acquire the service of a group of scholars. He glanced left and right, looking for a way through. He sighed in relief when he saw a small group of his Brothers peering down at him from atop a building. They were only novices, but he would have to place his faith in them.

'_Malik.. always looking out for me, aren't you?'_ He jerked his head in the direction of the guards and the Assassins nodded in response to the silent order. Altair carried her off to the side and stood in a shadow. He watched as his Brothers jumped to buildings closer to the gate until they could not leap any further. They each unsheathed a throwing knife and flung it at the guards stationed there.

The knives missed their targets from lack of experience, and instead hit the massive stone walls of the gate and clanged to the ground noisily. However, it caught the guards' attentions. Shouts of '_Infidel!' _and '_I will catch you!'_ were heard as they left their posts to chase after the small band of Assassins.

Altair couldn't help but smirk as the novices scurried away and out of sight. They still had much to learn, but he'd be forever grateful for their efforts. He walked as fast as he could to the now cleared and safe gate, aware that the bundle he was carrying moaned in pain once more. At least it was proof that she was alive.

Once he stood outside of Acre, holding onto his precious Maria as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort, he snaked to the right to where he had left Shihad. He hoped with all his heart that the idiotic horse had finally listened to him and stood still.

He ambled through the small graveyard outside of Acre that the bodies of those who had fought to protect it from the Crusaders rested in. He past the miniature tower in the center of the hollow ground; the symbol of their heroism. He paused, looking into the darkness for his steed. His eyes burned and stung from synchronizing his unique ability with his movement, but nevertheless, he still tried to will the vision back to himself.

He didn't need to, though. He felt something tugging at the back of his hood and he spun around in a heartbeat to face the new threat. Altair tensed his muscles and bent his knees, ready to sprint.

However, the friendly and slightly oblivious face of his brown horse with white stockings was staring at him with a peculiar gaze. He didn't mean to sneak up on him, he just wanted to show him that he was indeed a good horsey and listened to him for once.

Altair breathed out in relief and shook his head at the animal. He was soon in front of it, his forehead resting against its soft muzzle. "Don't ever approach me from behind again, _ahbal," _he sighed. Shihad snorted and narrowed his eyes at him, but soon gave the woman wearing nothing but curtains a curious stare. He sniffed at her and nipped at her hair. Altair shook his head and made soothing sounds from between his teeth as he hoisted the woman up and onto the saddle.

"_Shh, shh," _he cooed to the horse. Shihad remained still with his head turned to the side to study the woman now on top of him. Altair gave the beast a reassuring pat to his neck before taking the reins and leading him away from the gates. It was only a matter of time before the guards gave up their search for his Brothers and returned to their posts. Although he wanted to apply the salves onto her cuts and gashes, he couldn't risk being caught by the guards. It'd only put her in danger, and she was already in a poor condition as it was.

His feet took quick and light steps to further the distance between himself and Acre, leaving the real captive behind in the horrific city. He occasionally looked over his shoulder to glance at her. She was slumped forward with her head resting against Shihad's mane. The curtains were slipping off of her, exposing her shoulders to the frosty night. There were one or two blankets in his saddlebag, he knew that, and he'd wrap her in them as well as his own robe once Acre loomed in the distance.

Finally, after nearly half an hour from venturing away from the dreadful city, he deemed it safe to stop and nurse his beloved. He was in a thicket, a common feature on the west side of Israel. Since the western edge of the country faced the water, more trees and grasses were able to grow. Masyaf, although they received much rainfall, could not even compete with the sheer abundance of plantlife.

He led Shihad to a tree with low branches and tied the reins to one of the limbs. Making sure the knot wouldn't come loose, he gave it a firm tug and sauntered over to his horse's side. Altair reached up and wrapped one arm underneath her legs while the other supported her back and pulled her off of the saddle carefully. He set her down at the base of the tree, cringing when he saw her body shake uncontrollably as she shivered. He dug in his bag until he found the vials of medicinal paste. The ointment contained grounded tealeaves and lemon skins mixed with vinegar and olive oil. Oil wasn't necessarily an essential ingredient, but applying it to a cut or scratch greatly reduced the chances of scarring.

He nearly yelled in fury when he realized he could barely see a thing. He tried, multiple times, to let his vision that was a blessing from his ancestors to invade his eyes, but gasped as a painful jolt stabbed right through his forehead. He groaned and grabbed his head with both hands and halted his attempt to harness his sixth sense. He had gone too far already. One more try would mean that he would fall to the ground unconscious, leaving Maria to die from her wounds.

Altair panted heavily, sweat dripping off of his face. He growled once more and brought his knees to the ground. He caved into himself and let his head be cradled by his thighs as he rocked back and forth, trying to ease the pain away.

His method to soothe himself was interrupted by a snort and a hoof stamping. Altair blinked, and slowly looked up to see the outline of Shihad nudging fallen branches at his feet. The Assassin tilted his head to the side and stared bewildered at the animal. How in Allah's name did he untether himself from the tree?

He whinnied happily and pushed more pieces of wood at the man. Altair crawled backwards and glared at him. "_Now is not the time to play,"_ he hissed.

The horse grunted and stamped his foot impatiently. He lowered his muzzle to the ground and began searching for something, and soon two small sharp rocks were lying in Altair's lap.

Shihad blew out of his nostrils impatiently, waiting for the brainless human to make the connection between the wood and rocks. When he still stared bewildered at the animal, the horse rose on its hindlegs and slammed its forelegs down into the earth in irritation. Altair looked down at the rocks and then back to his horse. A grin slowly stretched on his face as he began to understand what the animal was trying to tell him. It was dangerous, however. It'd make it that much easier for someone to spot him and threaten Maria, but it was a chance he had to take.

He grabbed handfuls of grass and ripped the green strands out of the earth and tossed them to the side. Shihad's ears flicked in delight and he too began pawing the ground until a ring was formed from the torn grass. Altair groped around in the dark until he felt the sticks and stones. He placed the wood in the middle of his makeshift hearth and scraped one stone against the other above the tree limbs. He continued to strike the rock with the other until it created a spark that fed off of the branches and set them ablaze. He sighed as the fire began to grow into a decent size. Shihad snorted and trotted off in search of more wood.

Such a clever horse he had.

Now that he had a light source, he crawled back over to where his love was. Her skin was so pale—more than the moon, even. For a moment, his heart threatened to burst from his chest as the possibility of her being dead entered his mind. But the panic soon vanished as he held his hand in front of her slightly parted lips and felt faint traces of life escape her mouth. She was alive, but barely.

Altair quickly removed the curtain that he had wrapped her in and grimaced when he saw that blood had soaked her bandages. He carefully peeled away the cloth from her wounds one by one and rubbed the medicinal cream onto them. She remained deathly still, even when he was forced to tug the bandages held firmly onto her skin from her blood creating a thick and sticky paste.

He clenched his hands and cracked his knuckles when he saw the region in between her legs also covered in blood. _Did he arrive too late?_

He gently ran his hand over the abused skin and stared at her face with a pained expression. The feeling of guilt choked his heart. This was all his fault... If he'd stayed with her on the tower until morning and told her his true feelings, she'd never have gone through this...

Altair swallowed the lump in his throat and gave her forehead another kiss before tending to the last of her wounds.

He had used up all three bottles of paste, but he was glad. She had a chance to survive at least. And if she didn't live through it...

'_I will forever hate myself,'_ he thought bitterly. '_I had let Adha die before my very eyes—saw how her face was frozen forever in a fearful stare. If Maria was to leave this world right before me...'_

He knew not what he would do if she departed.

Altair wrapped the curtain loosely around her once more and looked over to the fire when he heard a crackling sound. There was Shihad, nudging a log twice the size of the Assassin into the flames. What god watched over this horse?

He sighed and reluctantly left her side to lend his assistance to the horse. Once he was done settling the log into the fire, he searched through his saddlebags to find his blankets. He pulled both of them out and knelt beside Maria. Altair slipped the curtain off of her. He removed his waistband, armor and weapons to slip his robe off of him. Once it was off, he dressed Maria in them and bundled her up back in the curtain and wrapped one blanket around her. He laid down next to her and draped the remaining blanket over both of them. He used one of his arms as a pillow for both of them while the other delicately pressed her body into his. He closed his eyes, hearing nothing but the flames crackling and Shihad trotting around their campsite.

* * *

"Still nothing," Tyler whined. "Not even The Chair has the boy spewing information out. His screams are so delicious and entertaining, but I have to prove to the Master that I'm capable of carrying out orders. What'll I do if Damiel never confesses?" He sighed and looked out of the window he was leaning on. It was remarkable how well-protected the boy's mind was. The coals didn't work—they only had him swearing his blasted head off at him. The Chair, well...

The sharp spikes had him scream as they entered the backs of his legs, but only more swearing was gained. It was all so nerve-wracking for the Templar. What would get him to speak?

"Augh, and damn it! When is Earl getting back from visiting his sick daughter? Surely he knows something about the whereabouts of that bitch Maria?" He frowned and shriveled his face up. He didn't like staying at the town. Too many drunkards, too much dirt that found its way under his fingernails, and too much violence. _Ugh, it was repulsive!_ Even Seer, who he had tried to befriend, did not wish to speak with him. Why had Christopher insisted that he and Seer stay in this disgusting, uncharming town? When did Christopher get to make the rules? Their Master was the one in charge!

Even Malcolm, who had a high position in the Templar ranks, thought his idea was brilliant. But what was so brilliant about it? They'd sent a letter to Earl, requesting that he'd capture that Maria woman, and he didn't even reply back! Over a week had past since that letter was delivered. There was no excuse for his tardiness! None at all! One would have thought that he was ignoring what his comrades ordered him to do just to carry out his own plans!

And then there was Clarence. He and the man got along pretty well, but it was Clarence and Christopher that worried him, yet it was somewhat exciting at the same time. Christopher was just trying to support the Templars by offering his humble service, while Clarence wanted all the fame and popularity.

It was a shame how they would always argue with each other. Well, Clarence would argue, while Christopher would reply with calm and logical answers. It was as if Christopher was the red carpet while Clarence was the bull. He'd always provoke him, yet Clarence could never find a way to handle his anger properly.

And then came Clarence's ridiculous need to couple with that traitor. Eugh, _why_ would he want to do _that_? She was damaged goods anyways, her vagina was nowhere near satisfying anymore. From what he'd gathered, Clarence knew her for a long time, years even. Maybe a decade, maybe half a decade? He shrugged, not really caring for the answer. But to seriously want her underneath him..! Was the Devil possessing the man?

What would Clarence even do if they managed to capture Maria? Their orders were to torture—rather, _his_ orders—her until she told them where the Piece of Eden was. And then once they collected the artifact, they'd dispose of her in a cruel and painful fashion.

But what if Clarence wanted more than just simple sex from her? Oh, that'd foil his plans completely! He wanted to see her feminine body shake from the torture and to see blood come from her, and if Clarence had feelings for the whore, then there'd be Hell to pay for sure. He'd manage to sweet talk Malcolm and the others into letting him deal with her personally. He'd romp around with her and have her every night, not letting anyone else touch her! That'd deal a serious blow to himself. If he couldn't perform his torture when he wanted to perform his torture, things were going to get messy. Damiel would only last for so long until he eventually was drained of blood and his body was too exhausted to function. And what would happen once he was gone? He wouldn't have a plaything anymore, and he'd have to wait.

_Wait_. He _hated_ waiting.

Even though he and Clarence were on good terms, the man would _never _let him torture Maria if he was interested in taking her as a wife. Yes, he did say he wished to bring honor to the Templars, and marrying the traitor would certainly be treason and an act of shame. Was he telling the truth, or was he lying so that he'd be a step closer to her?

And what of Maria? She wouldn't want to be his woman, would she? Oh, that'd ruin his plans too. He could just imagine it, having her strapped down to The Rack, screaming for Clarence to come and save her. And he would. Tyler was too much of a coward to put up a fight with a fellow Templar.

And what about the _Assassin_? The thought of the killer had him shiver and hunch his shoulders. It was a terrifying thing to think about, but it needed to be considered. What if he was searching for Maria, the woman he still loved? What if Maria and Clarence _did_ marry and the Assassin saw this as her being taken hostage? Would he come for her? Of course he would if he still loved her! But that was a big 'if'. What if he didn't love her? What if she was just a pleasurable body for him? Or, maybe it was the other way around. What if _he_ was a pleasurable body for _her_?

Oh, what if he _did_ come for her, though? He'd kill everyone in his path to save his precious little woman, even himself. Tyler gulped from the thought of having an Assassin's blade in his throat. Would Seer protect him? Hah! He'd probably be watching with a bottle of booze, cheering the murderer on! Oh, no no, but wait! He would _have_ to help him! Purposely not offering assistance to a fellow Templar was treason! It was illegal and seen as betrayal! Seer would probably be able to handle the Assassin just fine. He was a trained and hardened soldier, after all. He'd faced every type of villain out there! Certainly a man with only four fingers on his left hand would prove little challenge, no?

But then he had to rewind and think about what would happen if the Assassin never came. The Templars would have Maria, meaning they'd all be in the same headquarters. That meant Clarence and Christopher would be in the same room...

They were bound to argue, he _knew it!_ The two never agreed upon anything, it was impossible for them _not _to bicker at one another! Clarence would be distracted with Christopher's retorts—he could just see Clarence's pretty fair face becoming red in anger! That would give him maybe, _maybe_, enough time to have Seer haul that whore down to the torture chambers and to have a little fun watching her body spasm. Of course Seer would drag her there, there wasn't anything to worry about.

A disgusting little smile appeared on his lips.

He had it all figured out.

* * *

Sleep did not come to him that night. Every time she would moan or whimper, his eyes would snap wide open and he would inspect her and his surroundings, making sure she was safe. Every pore on his body was alert; every particle tingling with anticipation. He stayed vigilant, never losing focus on the sounds and smells around him. Whenever she cried out, he'd immediately readjust her body in a more comfortable position. He thought that he was hurting her at first, but soon realized that it was the salve doing its job. He knew that the medicine stung her, but it was the only way to ward off infection.

Not once did she open her eyes.

He'd do anything to see her grey pools once more. He wished dearly that she would wake up from her slumber and look at him, call him a fool and a hairy and useless git, and then allow him to press his lips firmly against her own. He couldn't bring himself to kiss her anywhere other than her forehead. It was... strange how he felt limited to her.

But he knew why. He didn't know her first thought of him. He had no clue if she would weep in his arms and cry her heart out, stammering between breaths of hysteria that she had missed him dearly and that she loved him. He could never see her doing that, even if he returned from the dead. He could easily see her smack him silly and punch his nose in.

Her face scrunched together in agony and sweat began forming on her brow. He dabbed her face with his sleeve, his ever-so familiar feeling of guilt and responsibility crashing down on him. When had Maria ever looked so lifeless? He could never remember a time that she hadn't looked so strong and independent. She was always sure of herself, always held a respectable amount of dignity and pride. And here she was, almost devoid of life.

He frowned when he felt something soft and velvety rub against his head. Shihad was softly chewing on his master's cheek and ear with his lips. Altair sighed and pat the horse's head, and the beast responded by licking the man's hair, his slobber causing it to stick out in peculiar angles. He rolled his eyes and stood from the ground, carefully picking Maria up as he did so. It was light enough for him to travel back to Masyaf, yet the sun had not come up yet. His body still ached from abusing his eagle vision, but he ignored the pain. After all, _she_ was probably enduring much worse than what he was.

The fire was just about diminished, the log he and Shihad had placed was charred and done with. Altair tenderly placed Maria on the saddle, strapped his armor, sash, and waistband back on, then climbed onto it himself. He repositioned her in the saddle so that she leaned back against him and didn't hurt her neck from craning it. He wrapped his arms on either side of her as he took the reins—a miracle how the horse had untied them—and guided Shihad out of the thicket. The horse was tired, he could tell by how heavily his gait swung. He probably didn't get any sleep either, and now he was going to run the poor thing until his legs fell off.

But if he didn't have her bandages changed and more ointment applied to her wounds... he risked losing her. And he couldn't have that—_wouldn't_ have that. He also risked, since she was wearing his robe, his identity revealed if he past any guards along the way. It seemed as if the odds were against him, but he was never one to run from a challenge.

He would reach Masyaf by nightfall, and he would only stop if absolutely necessary.

* * *

'Absolutely necessary', meaning that her skin was slick with sweat and mouth dry. She was unbearably hot and feverish, so he had pulled Shihad over an hour later to the side of the dirt and rocky road he was riding on to help her down a waterskin. He swung off of the saddle and pulled her down with him. He laid her out on the ground, propping her head up with one hand while the other allowed the water to trickle down her throat. She did not move nor make a sound.

He let the water trickle down to her mouth and onto her neck to cool some of her skin. Yet, as soon as the water made contact with the flesh, it quickly evaporated into nothing. Lines of worry creased over his brow and he took in a deep breath. Her face was flushed red, the bruises becoming purple and her cuts were now beginning to form puss. She was fighting, he could tell, as she breathed in short, weak puffs of air. Altair shook his head and gnashed his teeth together. He would make sure she'd live. He would _never _let her die from his own mistake. She meant too much to him for him to allow that.

He swung her and himself onto the saddle. He dug his heels into Shihad's side, and he responded by bolting faster than he had ever before. His master's new determination and strong heart had given him strength to deliver this woman back to his home alive.

* * *

"Your move," he said as he eyed the chessboard. They'd taken a strange acceptance of each other over the past couple of days. Granted, he still saw her utterly annoying, but he could live with it now that he knew that was the way she was. She'd say something that would insult him and mean nothing by it sometimes, and he'd easily shrug it off. She'd questioned him about the Creed, and he likewise about her own Order. He'd give her answers and so would she, and then both of them would have new questions to ask. She'd proven that she was no threat to the Assassins of Masyaf. In fact, she proved rather useful.

For instance, he'd learned that in England, Templar activity was bustling and their new leader had been trying to woo and persuade King Richard to let their faction control the trade and transportation vessels. The idiot King was still deciding, and Hildegard was thrilled that she was not in England to withstand the confusion and chaos his decision would cause if he was to agree.

And for the past two days, they had walked around the fortress with Bayo, Hildegard telling the man tales of how the dog killed that Saracen, or how he had threatened that Crusader. It was all so fascinating to him. Or, if they did not wish to have a walk, they would sit down and play chess with Bayo laying down on the cool stone floor, dozing. He found it interesting how she was able to comprehend each move. Clearly, she was a smart girl.

"King me."

Malik frowned and looked at the chessboard, wondering how she had done it. He sighed and shrugged and gave her one of her pieces back. He grumbled something unintelligent beneath his breath as she happily took the piece and placed it on top of another red one.

"So, what is it that _you_ do?" she asked as he moved one of his black circles on the board. He chuckled and waited for her turn.

"I'm the Master's most trusted Brother. I assist him in making decisions and sorting through paperwork."

She curled her lip back in distaste and puckered her mouth. "So you sit behind a desk all day, getting fat and scratching your butt crack while you give him words of wisdom? That's a bit dull for my liking."

"You're forgetting the part of picking my nose as well," he muttered sarcastically. "It's very important what I do, Hildegard." She nodded in understanding and slid her piece on another square. "Without me, he'd probably have gone insane with all the choices he conjures up out of thin air."

"Isn't he already insane due to Maria?" She picked up the glass of ayran from the counter next to her and took a sip of the drink. She had also grown addicted to it over the last two days.

Malik cringed from _her_ name but nodded slowly. "Yes, indeed he is. I'm waiting for the day he performs a leap of faith into the water surrounding the great mountains of Masyaf."

She shrugged casually and took another swig from her glass. "And that'd be a problem, why...?"

"He can't swim," he said simply. She spat the ayran out from her mouth upon hearing the news. Malik closed his eyes and pursed his lips as she sprayed the yogurt onto his face.

"_He WHAT?"_ she spat in disbelief.

He slowly wiped the ayran away from his mouth with his sleeve and glared at her. The affect was lost, though. His face was dripping with the white drink—even his eyebrows were white!

She mumbled a quiet 'sorry', but couldn't help but to giggle from his expression. He groaned and rolled his eyes at her, removing himself from his stool to search for a towel. She and Bayo followed him to the kitchen. The servants were bustling about, each calling out a different food that they were preparing. Who could blame them, though? Soon Assassins would be stampeding through the fortress in search of food after a hard day of training. She couldn't help but to admit to herself that her stomach was grumbling as well.

He quickly snatched a towel off of one of the countertops and dabbed his face with it. Once the ayran was cleaned off, a servant came storming toward him, scowled, and swiped the cloth away from him. He stood in confusion until he finally glared at their retreating back.

"_Novice servant,_" he mumbled. Hildegard rolled her eyes and strolled out of the kitchen with her faithful old friend tailing behind her. Malik raised an eyebrow in question and followed her out to the courtyard. She stood atop the stairwell and stared at the ramparts in front of her. He looked at her, then followed her gaze.

"Is there something of particular interest about the walls?"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Can we stand?"

He blinked and turned his head away, his eyes narrowing at her. "We _are_ standing—"

"_I meant on the ramparts, you monkey!_" she groaned. She turned to him and shook her head slightly. "_Well?"_

He sighed but nodded. "I suppose the Master will brand my backside if he was to know that I did not treat you correctly. Yes, we can stand on the ramparts. This way," and with that, he led her down the stairs. They past the training ring, and just from one glance at the men hard at work, she knew that they were hungry and eagerly awaited for their trainer to call it a night.

He stopped in front of a wooden ladder and placed his foot on the bottom step. He was about to climb up when he heard cackling coming from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see the blonde woman snorting into her hand as she tried to hold back more laughter.

"Are you _serious_?" she said with her hand cupped over her mouth. He opened his mouth to ask, but she responded before he could. "How do you plan on climbing with _one_ arm?" She hooted again and he bit his lip in annoyance. _He'd show her..._

It was awkward ascending the ladder with only one arm, but he managed. He had to sway his hips side to side while his one hand gripped the edge of the ladder and pulled him further up. He thought he had done a pretty impressive job, but obviously, from hearing the woman laugh even harder from his climbing, he looked like a fool.

She pointed up to him while clutching her side and hooted louder. From being behind him, it had seemed as if he was swinging his rear back and forth-as if he was trying to shake something off of him. She breathed in and caught her breath and soon joined him at the top of the ladder. She pulled herself up into the circular room they both stood in and bit her lips to stop the giddy smile that desperately wanted to show.

He growled from deep within his throat and pushed her aside as he opened a door that led to the rampart that looked directly over Masyaf. She sidled over to him and rolled her eyes as he continued to brood.

"You really need to work on your temperament," she said casually. He huffed and lowered his head, dark shadows being cast on his face. "So, tell me, Malik: how long have you been here, at Masyaf?"

He recoiled his head slightly from the question, but answered her nevertheless. "Eh, about twenty-one years."

"_Twenty-one years_?" she gawked, shocked from the answer. "What, was your family a nightmare or something?"

"You know, I don't really want to talk about it, okay?" he replied curtly. He rolled his eyes when she continued her pointless rambling.

"A healthy person is someone who _expresses_ what they're feeling inside," she countered with an innocent smile. "Express; not _re_press."

He grunted and nodded his head, amused by her. "In that case, you must be one of the healthiest people in the world."

She scowled and shook her head at him. "Now, why shut me out? You know what happens to people who shut everybody out?"

He looked down at his feet, then back at her, and guessed, "They lead quiet peaceful lives?"

"No," she drawled, "they fester." She gave a satisfied smile when he looked completely baffled.

"Fester," he stated matter of factly. "I am festering?"

She nodded and continued, "Inside: fester and _rot_. I've seen it happen," she assured him hastily. "You'll become one of those hunched back, lonely old men, sitting in a corner of a crowded souk, mumbling to yourself: 'My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch.'"

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. She remained smiling, bobbing her head to the sides happily as he remained tongue-tied. Finally, she spoke, "So, you're not going to tell me?"

"No."

"Alright, alright, I won't broach on the subject. But let me ask you another question."

He sighed, but allowed her to ask away. "Why didn't he send any letters to her?"

Malik took a deep breath from the question and looked to the side nervously. "Who is this 'he' and 'she'?"

"Oh, don't give me that, you know who I mean. Altair and Maria."

"Oh. _Them._" He said it as if he hadn't the slightest idea who she was talking about. "He was, he was... sidetracked. He was sidetracked."

She frowned and placed a hand on her hip. "Sidetracked? By what?"

"I don't think we should discuss this." He tried to pass her and escape her interrogations, but was stopped as she grabbed his left shoulder and hauled him back to where he was previously standing.

"_No, _I want to know. It's my business anyways—she's my best friend and he's your best friend. We're practically related because of them!" When he widened his eyes in fear from the thought of ever being related to _her_, she scoffed. "Alright, maybe not related, but I still damn well deserve to know."

"He never sent his letters." It wasn't a lie, at least, not completely.

"Why would he write letters and then never send them? What's the point of that?"

He looked side to side for help from his fellow Brothers, but they had retreated inside of the fortress for their supper. "He didn't want to send them."

"_Didn't want to?_" she repeated. "_DIDN'T WANT TO?_ Are you telling me that brainless oaf _didn't want_ to tell her his feelings?" She crossed her arms and stared the Assassin down. "I want the truth. _NOW._"

"I didn't send the letters. Is your soul satisfied now?" he hissed at her and walked away to the opposite side of the rampart, leaving her mouth hanging wide open.

"_You WHAT?_" She stormed after him and tugged on his loose sleeve until he faced her. Her face held a dangerous thunder while her eyes gleamed with terrifying lightning at the cripple. "_You didn't send the letters?"_

"I thought I was doing the right thing—"

"_The right thing_?" she snarled at him. "_You think by depriving two people, that were CLEARLY meant to be together, of each other's love was the 'RIGHT THING'? What is WRONG with—"_

_"Listen, Hildegard!_" he roared at her as he gripped her shoulder. "He was constantly worrying over her, never stopped pacing back and forth, waiting for his little Maria flower to race into the fortress so he'd swoop her off her feet into his arms! If he saw a letter, he'd become more addicted to her nonexistence!"

She swatted his hand away and bared her teeth at him. "_Because of you, she almost committed suicide!"_

"How is that _my_ fault? I was trying to protect my friend—"

"_Enough with your pathetic—_" she stopped as they both turned their heads in the direction of the Masyaf's city gates. Several of the Assassins were running out of the city to help stable a tired and exhausted horse. Malik grunted and nodded his head.

"He's back, I see."

She swallowed and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

He sighed when it remained silent for several moments. He finally spoke, in an exasperated voice, "I did not know that it would have caused so much damage—"

"_Their baby died because she thought he didn't love her._" Hildegard turned away from him and took in a shaky breath. "One letter... was all it would have taken... Just one letter from him, Malik."

He was about to reply when a flash of white caught his attention. He peered over the edge of the rampart to see the Master bustle through the gates, his stride quicker than usual. He and Hildegard silently, the tension still very much alive between them, descended the ladder to greet Altair.

* * *

Being Assassins, it was usual for them to deal with peculiar and out of place things. They were trained to have strong stomachs, to not be afraid of heights, to not panic at the sight of leprosy, and to use their abilities to their advantage. They were all taught to not question the Master's judgment and to place their trust in him.

But when a small group of Assassins that had not yet left the training grounds for their dinner witnessed their Master storm through the courtyard, carrying what looked like a person wearing his own robes in his arms, they couldn't help but to exchange puzzled glances with each other.

Altair bounded up the steps that led into the castle, ignoring his aching muscles' protests. He was a fool: he had tried to call forth his gift while riding Shihad to help guide him in the dark while riding towards Masyaf, and he was only given another wave of pain and dizziness. His lack of sleep from the night prior had also taken its toll on his body.

He stopped when he stood in the center of the hallway of bookshelves. The guards were not on duty— probably eating. He growled and cleared his throat, and bellowed, "_MALIK! HILDE—!"_

"I'm right here, Brother," Malik said as he padded up to his friend. Hildegard was still in the courtyard, contemplating whether or not she should enter. After what had just happened between her and Malik, she was in no mood dealing with those two men.

Malik frowned slightly when Altair did not turn around to acknowledge him. His head was bent down instead. The one-armed Assassin strode around the man and stood in front of him, shocked at what he saw.

He was holding what appeared to be an Assassin—one of them—in his arms. But, why was the Brother wearing robes that were too big for him, and why was Altair only wearing his light grey kameez and dark shalwars? The hood was pulled over the person's face, so it was impossible for him to determine who exactly he had rescued. On top of that, why were black strings (he hoped it was hair) covering the rescued Brother's face? He glanced back and forth between Altair and the bundle.

"Brother, did you pillage a Poor District?" he asked quietly. When he wasn't given an answer, he sighed and began pacing the hallway. "I know that it can be tempting to take advantage of the weak, Altair, but—"

"_Shh._"

Malik froze as he turned to see the Master whispering into the robes, the Arabic words rolling off of his tongue. In a heartbeat, he stood in front of him and narrowed his eyes at the package. It was shaking from what he could see, or was Altair shaking it?

Malik took a step back when he heard it whimper and he practically screamed, "_It's alive?_"

"What's alive?"

Both men turned to the woman entering the fortress. Behind her were the three novices that had chosen to postpone their dinner.

She held her head high as she walked towards them, being sure to send Malik an evil and threatening glare. He returned the look eagerly.

Hildegard furrowed her brow together as she studied the heap of white cloth in Altair's hands. Altair's hood was not on his person, revealing his terrified and pleading expression. His mouth was open as he took in sharp gasps of air, his face pained and exhausted. She tilted her head to the side and stepped away to let the other novices behind her take a look as well.

"Master, what... what exactly _is_ it?" one of them asked. Malik nodded his head encouragingly at Altair as he seemed somewhat hesitant to answer, as if he'd say something they didn't want to hear.

Instead of answering his question, he barked at the novices, "_Go and find Healer Asiya, and quickly! I do not want even a minute to pass by!"_

The boys blinked, nodded their heads in confirmation, and ran off to complete their order.

Malik and Hildegard stared at the novices running off in different directions in the fortress in search of the healer. The boys were utterly confused. Hildegard looked at Malik for an explanation, but he held none. She averted her gaze to Altair, and asked in an uncertain voice, "What the _Hell_ is going on?"

He carefully handled the package delicately, adjusting it in his grip. He took a step towards Hildegard and jerked his head towards the bundle. "See for yourself."

She stared into his eyes, waiting for the signs of a trap, but he gave none. She nodded and gulped. She slowly pulled back the hood halfway and brought her hands to the heap of hair, gently separating the black strands.

Hildegard gasped and withdrew one hand to cover her mouth in shock, while the other cradled the person's cheek. _It... it couldn't... No, she... it... No..._

She took a step back, her breathing harsh and heart slamming inside her chest. She shook her head and stared at the woman that was in that man's arms. She refused to believe how familiar the face she saw was.

Malik stole a glimpse at Hildegard's state before he too peered at the bundle. "A woman?" he questioned, looking at Altair. He smirked and shook his head. "You bring a _woman_ home with you? Who is—"

"_Maria,"_ Hildegard croaked. Tears were sliding down her cheeks and her brown eyes became red from the emotions she battled inside of herself. Her best friend... had come for her after all, even though she purposely ran away. She ran away to save _her; Maria. _She didn't leave to have the woman she admired so much become marred in such a way. Her face was bruised and swelled, no color left in her cold, pale cheeks. Her weak body was trembling as she tried to fight off the cold that only she was feeling with what little strength she had left. She looked absolutely sickly, and Hildegard couldn't help but to let a strained sob escape her lips.

Malik's smirk slowly left his face as he became aware of the situation at hand. _Altair, returning home from the mission. The mission being to rescue an ally from the Templars in Acre. Altair coming back to Masyaf with a woman that was barely breathing, the woman being the ally. The woman being Maria. Altair and Maria. Together. Him holding her in his arms, just as he had wanted all along._

"Hildegard," Altair whispered. He stared at the woman with sadness devouring his eyes. "Please, _help her._"

She could only nod her head, her voice no longer with her as she continued to weep. Just then, the novices that he had sent to go and find the healer came stumbling down the stairs, nearly tripping on the stone. "Master Altair! Healer Asiya requests you bring the patient to _her_ instead. She does not wish to leave the infirmary."

Malik groaned and clicked his tongue. "Your orders were to bring her _here—_"

"_That's enough, Malik,"_ Altair hissed. He ambled as fast as he could to the infirmary, ignoring how the muscles in his legs bunched together and twisted in an agonizing fashion. He gritted his teeth together and let out quiet, short hisses of discomfort.

Hildegard tailed after him, almost stepping on his heels. Malik was not far behind her, festering from the fact that she was in front of him. They past other Assassins that stared at them, but mainly at the beaten woman in the Master's arms. What's going on? Who in Allah's name was he carrying?

He looked around frantically when he stepped foot into the infirmary. Altair's eyes darted about for Healer Asiya, and he gave out an audible sigh of relief when he spotted her and her assistants standing outside of an opened door.

Malik knew that door very well. It was where he had his arm amputated. It was a room reserved for serious cases. It had a tub in it, a bed, and operating table all in one. He closed his eyes and halted in his tracks, knowing very well that _she _was going to be introduced to a new onslaught of pain— if she wasn't dead already.

In seconds, Altair was standing in front of the medic, holding onto Maria dearly. The medic was a big woman, as tall as Altair was, if not taller. "Mistress Asiya," he bowed his head, despite the situation at hand. "Your assist—"

"Give child to me." She didn't give him a chance to analyze the command or to react. She had taken Maria from him in her large calloused hands. She brought the patient inside, and her team of assistants scurried in after her. Hildegard frowned from the treatment and cracked her knuckles. _Maria did not deserve to be manhandled by that ogre!_

Altair glanced to the side at Hildegard, and they both nodded to each other, as if reading each other's minds. They both entered the room the healers had brought Maria in, but Hildegard turned around furiously when she heard Malik pad over to them. She hissed and dug her nails into the palm of her hand as she raised a fist at him.

"_I believe you are of no need here."_

Malik frowned and glared at the woman. "It is my job to assist the Master—"

"_You've already done enough to them!"_ she shrieked. He looked away in shame and shook his head. After being under her frightful gaze for a few seconds, he turned and walked out of the infirmary. She quickly scurried back into the room to inspect the condition her friend was in. She and Altair stood to the side of the commotion, watching as how they placed her down on the operating table and removed the Assassin robe from the woman with little mercy.

Asiya clicked her tongue. "Not good, very bad condition. Bandages must go. _Girls!_" The band of young women quickly peeled off the bandages Altair had crafted out of curtains, revealing the naked, bloody, and shivering woman beneath them.

Hildegard closed her eyes from the sight. Maria's body reminded her too much of her own, and she knew without a doubt that she did not deserve whatever had happened to her.

Altair winced as he watched the bandages being torn from Maria's body, ripping the scabs off of her dried cuts with them. The unconscious woman moaned from the pain, and soon fresh blood began to trickle down her flesh. He immediately stepped in the way to protect her. He shouldered the women out of his way and grabbed the wrist of one who was about to yank another strip of bandages off of her. "_Gently, fiend."_

The young healer rolled her eyes and plucked the Master's grip off of her hand with her free one. "Master, you may wait outside until we are finished—"

Hildegard was soon at his side, her nostrils flaring in anger. "_Finished_? With _what?_ Tormenting her?"

Healer Asiya frowned and shook her head. "Too much people make work hard. Leave, we take care of her."

Altair, however, had shoved another assistant that tried to put her hands on Maria. His eyes darkened and he flexed his left hand. He knew there would be serious consequences if he harmed one of his own, but at that particular moment, he valued Maria's life more than the Creed. She was an inch from death, and all these women did was treat her harshly?

Asiya stormed over to Altair and placed her hands on her thick hips. "Master, you leave now, and we heal her."

"Like Hell you will," Hildegard mumbled under her breath. "_Step aside_." Hildegard glared at each of the women with the darkest expression she could muster. They stared back at her, and one by one, they began stepping away. Once Asiya was the only one still standing proudly, she glanced back and forth between Hildegard, the Master, and the patient. The healer's body trembled in rage as she too stepped away from the operating table.

"Prepare yourself to be of use, Altair."

He nodded as she took over the role as medic. "Bring me the water basin and wine from the counter and salve and fresh bandages from the cabinets." Altair did as she said and brought her the requested items. The women gasped as they witnessed their Master take orders from _her_; a _Christian guest!_

Hildegard dunked her hands in the bowl that held the wine and motioned for Altair to do the same. He followed suit and cleaned his hands with the beverage. Hildegard slowly removed the bandage that the assistant had practically ripped off of Maria. She was careful not to disturb the scabs and sighed when the bandage came off. She didn't know she had been holding her breath. She tossed the cloth to the floor and turned her attention to Altair. He was holding out the water basin to her, and she took the washcloth that was soaking in it and began to clean Maria's wounds with the water.

Healer Asiya sniffed and, with an insulted '_hmph'_, left the room with the girls following obediently behind her. Hildegard sighed in relief when they were gone. "Shut that door, will you?"

Altair clicked the door shut and was back at Hildegard's side. "Will she live?" he whispered. She didn't reply, only bit her bottom lip as she cleaned a long cut that extended from Maria's cleavage and down to her navel. She dunked the rag back in the water once it was covered in blood and brought it back out after a few moments. When he did not get a reply, he demanded, "_Answer me now—_"

"I don't know," she stammered. She shot him an insulted glance and turned her attention back over to her wounds.

He inhaled and exhaled his anger away. "Is there any way I can help?" he asked quietly.

"As soon as I clean a cut," she began as she handed him the container of salve, "rub the ointment into the wound and begin bandaging it."

They started with the long gash between Maria's breasts. Once Hildegard finished gently dabbing the rag to her skin, the Assassin had scooped his fingers into the salve and was spreading it along the length of the cut.

"You don't need to smother it in, her skin will absorb it." She rolled her eyes when he stopped the process to stare at her. "Like this." She took his hand in her own and began guiding it up and down her ally's skin, making sure his touch was tender. He grunted in understanding and she removed her hand from his to hand him the bandages. "Be careful not to wrap it too tightly," she chided. She gently lifted Maria from the table so that he could wrap the cloths around her chest and stomach. "If you make it too tight, it'll cause the wound to bleed even more. Also, it isn't exactly comfortable, either."

He frowned upon the last comment, but did as she said. He made sure that the bandages weren't lung-choking.

"She's freezing," Hildegard whispered as she placed her hand over Maria's. "Her hands are like ice..."

"She will be under the blankets and warm as soon as we're through with this," he stated urgently. Hildegard sighed, and they continued their process of tending to her wounds.

The minor cuts on her body proved to be little challenge, but it was an injury in her thigh that was difficult to mend. They had tried bandaging it, but the blood still flowed freely. Maria moaned from the stinging she felt as the salve was applied to the wound.

"We'll have to sew it back together," Hildegard said firmly. She left the table to raid the cabinets, in search of a needle and thread. Altair's eyes widened from what she was about to do.

"You cannot sew her."

"I must, or else she'll bleed to death." She walked back over to him carrying a spool of thread and needle. She quickly looped the string around the needle and was about to start stitching her thigh back together, had it not been for Altair's hand covering the wound immediately.

"She is not a piece of linen, Hildegard."

The woman withdrew the needle and gave him a small understanding smile. "I know you don't want her to hurt anymore than she already is," she murmured, "but it's necessary. The wound will become infected if we do not close it, and her leg will have to be removed if that happens. Do you understand? I am not trying to hurt her, or you," she added in quickly.

Altair gulped. Already one person that he held dear had lost a limb because of him. To have Maria fall in the same Hell that he put Malik through...

His hand reluctantly left her leg and allowed Hildegard to pierce her skin with the needle, slowly closing the gash. It was a sickening sight to see small punctures being made in his _habibti's _leg, but he forced himself to watch. He repressed his sigh of relief when she had finally tied the end of the string when she finished. He wrapped a bandage around her leg just in case if it still bled. He forgot Hildegard was there for a moment and lowered his head down to Maria's knee, his lips gently brushing against her skin.

Hildegard stared in surprise yet awe as she saw him give a chaste kiss. It was ridiculous to kiss a knee, but the way he had executed it... it struck something inside of her. She smiled from the sight. If Maria was not on the brink of extinction, she would have dared to say the moment was picture perfect.

"She needs to be dressed."

Hildegard snapped out of her sudden trance and nodded from his words. She stepped away from the table and knelt at the foot of the bed, opening the small chest situated there. She pulled out a simple brown gown and carried it back over to the couple. She bit her lips to keep herself from sighing.

He was stroking her hair behind her ear, his thumbs making small circles on her cheeks as he cupped her face. The way he looked at her was so heartwarming, as if she was just closing her eyes for a brief rest and he was waking her up from her sleep. It was the way a lover would look at their partner...

_Lovers..._

Hildegard stood next to him and cleared her throat politely. He turned his head to look at her, then frowned. "What of her hair?"

She tented her eyebrows together. "What about it?"

"It is covered in her blood."

"We can deal with that once we know for sure that she'll survive—"

"_No._" He lifted her frail and bandaged body off of the table. She was practically covered in the bandages. Barely any of her skin was even visible. He sighed and directed his feet toward the already prepared bath at the corner of the room. "We will clean it."

"But we might get the bandages wet—"

"Her hair is beautiful," he murmured. "If you will not help, then I will do it myself."

She swallowed back a lump of emotion in her throat. She'd never heard the man speak so softly, so carefully until that night. It was the unknown side to him. Not even his Brothers saw him so tender and loving. Hildegard nodded. "Very well."

He sat down on the floor next to the bath and held her in his arms. He brought her head to the edge of the tub and allowed it to fall back so that her hair was the only thing that fell into the water. The other woman sighed, knowing that _she_ was the one who was going to have to do the cleaning while he held her like that.

"Can't be good for her neck," she muttered. She rubbed the creams and oils into Maria's hair and untangled the knots and blood from it. "It's a miracle she made it this far alive, you know."

He did not reply, only stared at his beloved's face. He'd never seen so many bruises on a face. But it was still her. She was still Maria, and she was still the only woman he'd ever love.

Hildegard looked over at the man. He wore no hood, revealing an emotional face that showed all of his years. Dark lines were forming beneath his eyes due to his fatigue and worry over his battle maiden. He was staring at Maria, his hazel eyes boring into her. It was all remarkable to Hildegard. She had slowly begun to believe that the man did indeed have a heart. Malik's talk two days prior had opened her eyes to a new perspective. But this... _this_ was proof. This was all the evidence one would need to know his undying love for the woman they both cared for. All someone had to do was take a good look into his exotic eyes and they would feel that love he preciously hid away from the world.

And Maria was the only one who had experienced that love.

Hildegard bit her lip and removed her hands from the tub. "It's done."

Altair glanced at Hildegard and she felt her heart twist inside of her. He looked so defeated and drained, as if someone had plunged a knife into his chest. He picked her body up, her hair soaking wet, and brought her to the bed. Hildegard sighed and tugged on his sleeve, stopping him from placing her down.

"If she sleeps with wet hair, she'll wake up with a sore neck."

"You have a solution then?"

"Yes," she smirked, "it's called a towel. Maybe Arabs only use them as head decorations, but in England, we use them to dry our bodies off after a bath."

The humor was lost on him, not that she was expecting a chuckle. He stood there, waiting for her to produce a towel. She shuffled through another cabinet and brought the soft fabric to him. It was made out of pure cotton and was thick and warm.

To him, it looked like Hildegard had assaulted her head with the towel and was trying to strangle her with it. To her, however, she was just scrunching and rubbing the towel against her hair. Altair took three steps back and glared at the woman. "_What are you doing?"_ he hissed.

She couldn't help but chuckle from his typical behavior. "Men. Do they not understand something so simple as towel-drying?"

"You said you would dry her hair, yes. You did not say that you would attack her with it!"

"Keep your voice down," she sighed. "Look, we're a team for now, okay? I know you don't fully trust me, but just listen to me. I'm a woman and I have experience with these things. Do _you _have hair that's more than three inches long? I didn't think so."

He narrowed his eyes, but allowed her to 'dry' her hair again. _Honest to Allah, it was obvious she was trying to shake Maria's brains out of her ears!_

After her hair was reasonably dried, she tossed the towel to the side and nodded toward the bed. "You can lay her down now."

He gently lowered her body onto the sheets and assisted Hildegard in pulling the loose gown over her head.

Hildegard sighed in relief when the work was finally over. She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and gave a tired smile. "You should get some sleep, your people expect you to be fit to lead."

He shook his head. "I will stay with her."

"Altair, I completely understand your want to be near her. Anyone would feel protective over an injured loved one. But please, consider," she said softly, "if she wakes up, and she sees you. What would she think? What would she do? She'd run right out of here, you and I both know that, and reopen her wounds. Please, consider your actions."

Normally, he would have put up a fight and insisted that he'd be the one to make sure she slept comfortably. However, the thought of a soft, warm bed had his shoulders slump in defeat. His legs nearly buckled under himself from the thought of rest. He sighed, annoyed with his fatigue, "You will watch over her, then?"

"I'll be right outside—"

He puckered his lips, swung the door open, and left the room. She frowned and crossed her arms as she noticed how he scowled after each step he took and how the corners of his mouth would turn downwards in a grimace. The man was obviously in pain and needed sleep—what on Earth was he up to?

He soon returned with a wooden chair and set it down at the side of the bed. "You will sit here and watch over her."

Hildegard shrugged and tried to pull the chair away from the bed so she wasn't so close to it, but he had repositioned it to where he had it. She sighed and nodded in defeat. "Yes, I'll stay right here—"

"_And you will not move from this spot—_"

"And watch over her. Don't worry, I love her just as much as you do."

'_That is not possible...'_

Altair wrapped the thick blanket around her and adjusted the pillow underneath her head, making sure she was as comfortable as possible before he left for the night. He knelt down and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "_Sa arje'o halan,_ Maria." He gave her temple closest to him a small kiss before he stood and left the room, retreating to his own chambers.

Hildegard sighed and plopped herself into the chair, instantly falling asleep.

* * *

Seer flipped through the pages of the little journal they had collected from Damiel's person when they had first captured him. It was obvious that the deep thought put into the text could never belong to the boy himself. What he read interested him, even though there were only eight pages. Each page contained very intriguing information on the Apple, as well as the Assassins, especially the last page. There were two pictures, one being a diagram of some sort of weapon, while the other depicted a battle between Assassins and Templars.

There were ideas, philosophies, and theories written down in the journal, as if someone was trying to come up with answers for unasked questions. It proved to baffle Seer himself. Who would spend so much time asking question after question?

The author never came up with an answer, only more questions. He'd state a partial answer, but then finish it with yet another blasted question! The Roman was confused.

'_What follows are the three greatest ironies of the Assassin Order: (1) Here we seek to promote peace, but murder is our means. (2) Here we seek to open the minds of men, but require obedience to a master and set of rules. (3) Here we seek to reveal the danger of blind faith, yet we are practitioners ourselves.'_

Seer frowned and reread the passage. _The author was... an Assassin?_ He shook his head, slowly digesting the information. The author wrote how they kept staring into the Piece of Eden, and even mentioned one of his colleagues suggesting he leave the artifact alone.

'_So, the Apple is with the Assassins after all... Hmmm...'_ Seer scratched his chin and smirked. _Of course!_ The Apple was not with Maria—she never had it. It was with _him_, her lover. All this time, they'd been chasing that woman, and for what? Just for sweet revenge? Or because his allies actually believed that she held the artifact?

Everything made sense then. When they had burned down that Hildegard's estate in London, no one was home. In fact, his men had reported seeing her board a vessel to Syria. _Of course!_

The Rose was in league with the Assassins all that time, and the Templars didn't even know! It made Seer sick thinking about how stupid and ignorant they were.

Hildegard left to inform the Master of Assassins that the Templars were once again rising to power, and also to inform him that reinforcements were on their way. _That_ was why Maria and the other Roses had left London! Not because of the wedding, no. They had plans all along to rendezvous with the Assassins. And his Brothers were too blind to have foreseen this!

But he knew the truth. He knew where the Apple of Eden was, and that Maria certainly did not have it. Yes, she could be looking at it right that very moment while he made his discovery, but the fact that she held it in her palm and kept it safe and locked away from the Templars was absurd.

But what if she fell under its illusion? He had only heard rumors of what the artifact was capable of doing, but only just that: rumors. He never experienced its capability, nor did he plan to. What if Maria was trying to persuade the Assassins to give the Apple over to her so that she may destroy the Templars?

It was an insane thought, but it was still possible. Men were weak, it was a fact of life, save for a few select people. What if she succeeded? He'd watch comrade after comrade bow down to that woman.

But then again, why did he even care to begin with? The Templars were fools. He served them only because his family had deemed him a disgrace. It didn't concern him, though. If he had stayed in Rome like they had wished him to, he'd be bored to tears with the politics he'd have to endure. Did he actually care for his fellow Templars, though?

Well, there was Christopher. He was a good man; wasn't tainted with all the false beliefs and bravado that the others were plagued with. He was admirable, that was for certain. He had an astounding wit to him that most would have been jealous of. Seer, however, quickly gained the man's trust. Brains and a sword were always a good match. But other than Christopher, there was no one he really cared for. Admittedly, he'd love to see Tyler eaten by rats and to have Clarence drown.

And then there was Earl. He never personally knew the man, only knew that he had a weight problem and was always annoyed with someone or something. No, he wouldn't care if his head was placed on a pike.

Seer smiled maliciously and closed the worn journal. He'd keep his little discovery to himself. Let the others hold on to their petty beliefs. He'd be sure to hide the journal from his comrades and withhold the information from them.

* * *

"Master? You _really_ should try to sleep. I mean, you look _awful_."

The three previous novices were surrounding their Master, who was sitting on a bench in the fortress, kneading his forehead with his fingers. They had tried to persuade the man that in the morning, he'd be able to check on the rescued hostage and to replace her bandages. Tried, but failed.

When he did not respond to them, they nervously looked at one another and tried again. "Don't worry, Master. She's in good hands, she'll be fine. Please, you mustn't do this to yoursel—"

"Wise advice, Brothers, but we all know that he is too much of a fool to listen to wisdom." The three novices turned their heads and each gave a small bow to the one-armed man approaching with a white bundle in his hand.

Malik nodded to each of them and waved them off. The poor souls didn't even eat their dinners yet. Malik sighed when their retreating footsteps were no longer heard and lowered himself onto the bench next to his friend. "You're worried," he stated as he placed his Assassin's robe in Altair's lap.

Altair grunted and continued his assault on his face. Malik chuckled and replied casually, "I don't think I've ever seen you this worked up over someone. The novices are right— you _do_ look awful."

Altair groaned and rested his forehead on Malik's good shoulder. "Malik," he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"It's all my fault that she's... in this condition..."

The Assassin rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulder, trying to shake the man off of him. "Listen to yourself. How many men have you killed in your life? Did you ever cry in the face of death—"

"_I am not crying!_"

"But you will be," he snorted. "You're a grown man with a brain, Altair. Perhaps you should consider using it? Healer Asiya may be a little rough, but she's a good healer. The woman will be alright, you're overreacting."

"_Overreacting?_" he hissed. He slowly raised his head to glare at Malik. "I am _not_ overreacting! Maria's life is on the line, dwindling, and all you can say is that I'm _overracting?_"

He sighed and clicked his tongue. "There, he did it again! Yelling at the poor cripple when he was only speaking the truth." He closed his eyes when he heard Altair growl at him. "Altair, I care for your well-being, I really do. But fretting over her is not going to make anything better."

"What would you rather have me do? Parade through the fortress, singing that she's finally back in my life?"

Malik stared at him for a few moments, then burst out into laughter. Altair balled his hands into fists and gave him a seething, narrow-eyed glower. His friend doubled over and clutched his side from thinking of the Grand Master of the Hashashin ever doing such a thing as... as... _singing!_

"You... may as well... throw flowers... around, too!" he sputtered between newly founded giggles. "Or... you could... stand on the ramparts... and.. shout... your accomplishment..."

Altair stood from the bench and stormed back in the direction of the infirmary. Malik, however, immediately sobered and had grabbed his shoulder and ushered him back to the bench. "Brother, I meant no offense."

"_No offense? _You are _clearly_ enjoying the fact that she's dying!"

"I said no such thing! I am enjoying the fact that you are _blind_ to see that _she is back in your life!_"

Altair was about to say something to counter his words, but his mind went blank. _She was... back? She was... at Masyaf? He had seen her and held her, finally, after mourning her absence for a year?_

Malik groaned and slapped his forehead. "_Please_ tell me you've noticed that you once again have your precious Maria kibbeh."

Altair stared at his feet and frowned. He'd been too concerned worrying over her and battling his frantic emotions inside of himself to notice that he had _held her!_ True, she wasn't exactly in perfect condition, but she was _alive_. Wasn't that what he'd been telling himself; that he'd be happy knowing that she was alive?

"Ahh, so the novice finally uses his head," he mused. Altair sighed and shook his head, a small tired smile stretching across his lips.

"I suppose I am," he admitted, "still a novice with women after all."

Malik nodded, but then smirked, "And I cannot help you in that field of study, for I myself have zero experience with the opposite sex."

"Thank you, Malik," he murmured. "I suppose things _are_ better than before."

"No more sulking around the fortress, then?"

The Master rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He grimaced when he still felt Shihad's slime in it. "For now, at least."

His friend noticed how his eyebrows tented together once his hands felt his hair. He leaned toward him and grabbed a handful of it and sniffed it. Not only was it covered in a light layer of grease, but it smelled like... _horse_. He shook his head in wonder and stood from the bench. "I'll have a bath prepared— the Grand one, mind you. You should get something to eat. I doubt you ate anything on your way back from Acre."

He nodded and slowly removed himself from the bench. "Thank you, Malik."

The man shrugged and walked off, calling over his shoulder, "If _I _didn't babysit you, who would?"

* * *

The Grand bath was reserved specifically for the Master of the Assassins. The tile in the bathroom was always polished, the intricate designs etched into the stone gleaming even in the darkness. Thick rugs decorated the floor here and there, pillows and cushions in one corner of the bath. There were two shelves stacked with fresh towels and a clean robe. There was also a window, that, when the sun was angled just right, sent comforting rays of light on the fairly large, square tub. It was a room that possessed a warm atmosphere and calmed the user down, even if their minds were as troubled as his was.

Altair stared at his robe in his hands, a distressed frown plastered on his face. Blotches of red had stained the white fabric. Blood. _Maria's_ blood.

He shook his head and let the robe fall to the floor and pulled his clothing off. He lowered himself in the tub once he was bare and winced. His back was killing him— if he twisted it too much _that_ way, it'd shoot an icy pang up his spine, and if he leaned over like _that_, he'd clench his teeth from the feeling of having each vertebrae stretched from their rightful place. Once his body, save for his head, was submerged under the water, he sighed and leaned back. He massaged and coaxed his muscles to relax and loosen from their clenched states. It took nearly an hour for them to mellow out.

And once that was done, he was immediately flooded with images of Maria lying underneath that obese man, unconscious and unable to defend herself. _It was disgusting. _He never thought he'd be the type to bear hatred for his enemies, but this was indeed a special case. If he had only arrived sooner, he would have been able to kill him before he even forced her down on the mattress. He had failed her.

But if he had arrived seconds later, that man would have slid that Allah forsaken penis inside of her. He growled when he thought of what might have happened. _He _was the only man allowed to ride her. That corpulent, miserable _bastard _had no _right _to lay even one finger on her.

The thought of having that damned man's hands clutching her mounds that only _he _was allowed to fondle made his hands clench, cracking his fingers as he did so. Maria's nipples were red and swollen, as if someone had pinched and squeezed them too hard. Her breasts were even bruised. Altair would have _never _treated the sensitive flesh in such a way, even if she became a Templar again and he was sent to kill her. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes. He was furious and had half the mind to ride back to Acre, even if he and Shihad were both miserably tired, find that man's corpse, and tear it to shreds. But he only had _half _a mind to do so. He knew that his duty was right here at Masyaf— for his Brothers and for _her. _He knew he would stay put in his home for the time being, but it felt somewhat refreshing when he schemed ways to disfigure that _yebnen kelp_.

He sighed, knowing that he needed to calm himself. He was grateful that his Brothers had left some food for him, even if kibbeh, bread, and cheese were the only things on the table remaining. Food had helped to ease his thoughts, but not for long.

It took more than Malik's sharp yet friendly words to convince him that she'd be alright. She barely moved while he and Hildegard dressed bandages on her wounds, and, if it was even possible, she resembled a ghost. He thought that at any given moment, she'd become transparent and disappear.

If she'd pull through and become better, then what? What would happen then? What would he even _say_ to her? Or would he be so tongue-tied he wouldn't say anything? What if she left for England again?

He growled and began scrubbing Shihad's saliva out of his dark hair with herbal creams. He knew he had to fix their relationship, but how would he construct a bridge between them once more? He doubted he'd be able to just take her in his arms and let his and her lips reunite. No, she'd never let him do that. She'd be furious and would have the urge to kill him before she even considered speaking to him, let alone continuing what they used to have. Even if she found out from Hildegard that he had planted soft, tender kisses on her knee and temple, she'd bring Hell down upon the Assassins.

But he supposed that her fiery, fierce, and independent side was what made him fall in love with her. Everything about her was, well, _beautiful_ to him. She had a certain charm and grace to her that no one he had ever met possessed. The way her lips would curve upwards in a gentle and innocent smile when conversing with strangers, persuading them to trust her was absolutely remarkable. Her eyes would still have that glorious spark in them, yet there was that haze of femininity underneath all of that. Her mouth would always be a pleasant sight for any man, but you'd only see the fire in her eyes if you were looking for it. He knew that men would be tempted to hold her down to a bed and break her spirit, just to have the right to say that they 'owned' her if they ever saw that rebellious glint.

He admitted, he felt a bit of power while they were on the tower together. But it wasn't that he was trying to deem her his little piece of property. He loved her, and wanted to _feel _that ferocity and glory hidden underneath her skin. And she let him bask in it as she wrapped her legs around his waist, clutched the back of his neck with both of her hands while she tugged on his dark locks of hair, and when she had sealed her lips to his own. Maybe she too felt that she wanted to experience his strength.

Altair slowly craned his neck backwards so that the water cleaned away the now grimy cream out of his hair. He wasn't fond of dunking his head underwater, even if it was just a bath. Water had always been his mortal enemy, even though his body depended upon it for survival. It was so ironic to him, but he couldn't quite place his fear. He felt as if it choked him whenever he lowered his head into it. His ears would always pop once he resurfaced, and he _hated_ that feeling.

He swung his legs over the edge of the tub and stepped out onto the lush towel laying on the floor next to the bath. He grabbed another towel off of the shelf and dried himself off, frowning when he recalled how Hildegard nearly tore Maria's head off with one of these Allah-forsaken towels.

He slipped into a clean robe and made his way back to his bedchamber. There was nothing more he could do that night.

* * *

Four days had past, and still her eyes remained shut. And each day, they'd replace her old bandages with clean ones, hoping that she'd recover soon. Hildegard's back ached tremendously; she hadn't slept in a bed for those four days. She was either up all night watching over Maria (Altair had taken a liking to randomly popping his nosy head in now and then to see if Hildegard was truly keeping an eye on her), or she was sleeping in that most uncomfortable chair. Either way, her spine felt like it was about to snap. However, some things were pleasurable for her.

He and Hildegard had made a deal: she would watch over Maria, and he would only enter the room to help dress new bandages on her and feed her, and also to spend brief minutes by her side. Hildegard's end of the bargain was that she had to look away while he gently held his _habibti's _hand and tenderly brushed her fingers with his thumb. Of course, Hildegard stole peeks at him here and there. Her breath was immediately taken away when she saw his expression. He was still tired and aching, she could tell, but the way he looked at her...

She was shaken that such a man even existed.

Maria's face was still pale, but her breathing had improved.

Since she did not wake up, they had to feed her themselves, which was slightly embarrassing for Hildegard. They had fed her jellies and jams that were made from peaches, raspberries, and lingonberries. Hildegard couldn't help but to suggest that she'd be needing bread and meat as well. She was already thinning away, and she had insisted that she needed more meat on her bones.

So, what did she have Altair do?

Well, she tried to have Altair chew the bread and meat and feed her by going mouth to mouth, just for amusement, but he had vigorously refused to do such a thing. He had stated that his lips would not touch hers for any reason until they had sorted things through with each other when she was awake. He was torturing himself with it, but he respected Maria enough to politely let her go should she choose never to love him again.

But it wasn't a full failure on Hildegard's part— he disagreed _partially_. He still chewed the bread and chicken to soften it for Maria, but had used a fork to place it in her mouth. Bread and meat wasn't a problem for them, it was the jelly.

Constantly, it'd slip down the corner of her mouth and slide to her chin. They'd had to tuck a handkerchief into her blouse so that she wouldn't dirty herself up. Hildegard couldn't help but grin like a complete fool every time he had fed her spoonfuls of the mushed up fruit. Oh, if Maria knew what she looked like whenever he'd get some of the jam on her nose accidentally...

'_I am such a cruel woman.'_ Hildegard shrugged to herself and knew that her behavior was excusable. After all, Maria was showing signs of recovery, even if they were slow. She would make it, at least.

Altair, however, found no amusement or hilarity out of the situation. He would be in total concentration as he fed her, eyebrows practically becoming one. Hildegard had often considered getting a towel and dabbing his forehead. With the way he was treating her, it was only a matter of time before he began sweating and panting. For crying out loud.

"You know, she isn't as fragile as you think she is," she mumbled. He held her mouth open with one hand and slipped the spoon in her mouth, and let Maria's lips slowly come together again as he slid it back out. He stopped his process to glare at Hildegard in offense. "You treat her as if she'll break at any second. She's solid flesh, just like you and me."

"Forgive me if I am trying to comfort her," he hissed. Hildegard sighed and crossed her arms.

"I care about her as well, Altair, but you don't see me pretending she's royalty and worrying if she'll choke on the jelly."

"If I am not careful, she may very _well_ choke."

"Then she'll hack it back up and be done with it," she shrugged. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at the woman. She stuck her tongue out at him in return. "Admit it, you're behaving like a fool."

"The only one who is acting foolish, Hildegard," he growled, "is _you_. I caught you sleeping last night when you were meant to be watching over her!"

"I _was_ watching over her, you buttless man!"

He snorted and scooped another small spoonful of jelly from the jar and fed her once again. "Oh, _really?_ How can one watch through closed lids?"

"She'd make a sound if she was in pain, Altair. And besides, I'd sense if something was wrong with her," she pouted. He looked unconvinced and pursed his lips in annoyance. "You forgive _me_ for being tired—"

"_If you are tired, then leave._"

She huffed and sat on the foot of the bed and crossed her leg over the other. "You are so _stupid_. I am _not_ going to leave her. I don't abandon my friends, for your information."

"Then do not complain."

Hildegard sent him optical daggers and prayed to the Lord Himself that this man would be beaten to death by a fish one day. '_Stupid man...'_

* * *

_"_Is everything alright, Brother?" Malik called out to Altair as the man brushed past him. His clean Assassin robe billowed behind him as he stormed to his study, marching up the stairs with a clenched jaw. Malik exchanged a brief look with Bayo, who had witnessed the Master's mini tantrum as well. The two of them followed Altair to his study silently, waiting for a response.

He slammed his fist down into the table, small splinters flying from the impact. Malik frowned while Bayo growled and darted his eyes in search of danger.

"_Stupid woman_," he snarled. "She thinks she can tell me what to do with her...! The _nerve!_"

Malik quickly rushed over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder as he was about to send another blow to the table. "Never harm an innocent, Altair. I believe it applies to furniture as well." The Master breathed out irritably and bit his lip. Once his hand slid back down to his side, Malik said, "Now, tell me what happened."

"I was feeding Maria and that _woman, Hildegard,_ decided to order me to treat Maria like a person instead of a breakable doll! It was madness, Malik!"

The one-armed man blinked from the confession and shook his head. _Such stupidity!_ "Altair, did you consider that you _were _being too gentle with her?"

"I am merely trying to help her recover!" he spat in his defense.

"I see how you're mumbling to yourself while walking the halls. Instead of sulking, you're fretting over her! Relax, she will be fine, I assure you. And as much as I dislike agreeing with her, maybe Hildegard's right."

"Are you saying I should not care for Maria?"

"_I never said that_. I'm saying to not overdo it to the point where the entire fortress is gossiping about you—oh, wait, too late for that," he mused quietly. Altair raised an eyebrow and was about to question, but Malik waved him silent. "The only ones that know of her presence are the three novices, and I already spoke with them," he murmured. "The rest of our Brothers believe that you're having another one of your episodes. The Intermediates are already placing bets to see if you will either whimper for her while taking a bath or if you'll moan her name while you sleep."

"They _what?_"

"Oh, I never told you? Well, now you know."

He sighed and sat down in his chair. He groaned and placed his head in his hands. "Malik, what am I to do?"

Malik shrugged and guessed, "Continue breathing, eating, and shitting every day? _I don't know, Altair._ What are you to do after what?"

"When she wakes up," he growled, "what am... what am I supposed to say?"

"Is this what plagues your mind?"

He nodded.

"You tell her the truth then, I suppose," Malik said easily. "You and I both know you wouldn't want to lie to her."

"Malik, the truth would be that _you _interfered with our relationship with the letters..."

He sighed and gave a concerned lopsided smile. "I'll stand her fury and anger if it means fixing what I've destroyed."

"It wasn't just you, though," he sighed. He told Malik of the night on the tower and how he doubted himself. He told him that he never told her that he loved her or that she held a special place in his heart. "What if she is set on believing that I never cared for her? What if she thinks that I just needed some form of release that night?"

"Altair," he said softly. The Master looked at his friend, waiting for him to speak. Malik took in a shaky breath, and said, "I do not know her well enough. But from what Hildegard has told me over the past few days, she loves you. Maria loves you very much and I believe she too would like to piece together your broken and somewhat confusingly ironic relationship. But tell me, how exactly did she acquire those wounds?"

Altair confided in him what he walked in on at the Templar stronghold in Acre. "The man was a Templar, no doubt about it. I do not know who he was though. I was too careless to have checked his clothes for a family crest."

"Not careless," Malik mused, "but concerned. Perhaps when she wakes up, she may have the answer to that question. It's just strange. How is it that _she's _the captive? I know that she assisted you on Cyprus, but the letter clearly said that one of _us _was being held a prisoner. She isn't part of our Order, Altair."

"I know, and I'm curious about it as well."

"You are sure that your sense told you that she was the target?"

"Yes, I am sure of it. No one else had a gold aura, and the man on top of her was portrayed as an enemy. She _had _to be the victim," he replied.

"And you are sure you searched the _entire _stronghold?"

"Malik, I had to go down many flights of stairs, and when I finally reached the bottom, there was only that one door that led to the room she was in. There weren't any other doors, just racks and racks of weapons and armor. There is no mistake about it—she _was _the captive."

Malik sighed and nodded his head. "I believe you when you say you searched it thoroughly, but something just doesn't seem right. Do you sense that we are missing something important in this puzzle?"

"Yes," he stated, "it's beginning to worry me as well."

"What was she even _doing _back at Acre?" he thought aloud. "Why would she just hop on a boat and venture all the way to the Holy Land just to see Acre? I know it's special to you two, but it's ridiculous. Ah well, I suppose she's the only one that can give us answers."

Altair sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I only hope that she wakes up in a few days. It gives me enough time to think of what to say to her."

"_Novice._"

* * *

Six days—_six damn days! _He was beginning to become frantic now, wondering when she'd wake up. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with her, but if that was the case, why was color returning to her bruised cheeks? Her minor injuries were healing quickly, but he knew that her leg wounds and gash between her breasts would take weeks to heal. There'd be a faint line replacing the cut; a symbol of his failure.

He'd only have a few minutes to himself before Hildegard returned from relieving herself. They'd both moved Maria to a different room now; Healer Asiya had demanded that since her life was no longer in jeopardy, she should not be vacating the emergency room. So, Altair had the servants prepare a bedroom that was just down the hall from Hildegard's for her. It was a small room, but it was comfortable. There was a window that faced the sun, a dresser, mirror, and chest at the foot of the bed. It wasn't much, but he doubted Maria was the type of woman who demanded luxurious space.

He sat on the chair next to her bed and looked her over. She slept peacefully, her head turned to the side and her black hair half covering it. Her hair had gotten longer, he noticed. It now almost reached her breasts, but not quite. It was still just as beautiful as it had been.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and stroked it. Altair gave a weak smile and planted yet another kiss on her forehead. He wasn't sure how many times he had done that that week. Every time, he'd go to her and either hold her hand or cup her face, then bring his lips to her forehead and leave her in Hildegard's care. But the woman was not back yet, so he had some time left.

"Maria..." He sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, admiring how soft the ebony strands felt as they slipped past his fingers. She stirred in her sleep and rolled her head to the side so that she pressed her cheek into his hand. He froze instantly at the spot and held his breath as she sighed and mumbled his name. _How did she know he was there?_

"_Altair..."_ she murmured once more and placed her hand on top of the one against her cheek. Her lips turned upwards in a gentle smile as she nuzzled his hand. His heart boomed in his chest, but he sighed, relieved that he realized she was still asleep. He smirked, but widened his eyes as she ran her hand up his arm and gently tugged on his sleeve. His other hand used the mattress for support as he was pulled, very willingly, towards her. She unconsciously loosened her grip and let her fingers slide off of his kameez once he was leaning over her, his face right next to hers.

He could feel the breath coming from her mouth fanning his face, intoxicating him with lust and desire. He swallowed when he found himself leaning closer towards her lips. _They were so close, yet not close enough... Maybe, just maybe... one little kiss couldn't hurt, right?_

He parted his lips as the distance between them was closed, barely a centimeter from his target—

"Em... what are you doing?"

He jumped and sprang back from the bed at the sound of her voice and whirled around to stare at Hildegard. His face unconsciously reddened while he glared at her. "There is a thing, Hildegard, called _knocking_."

"I did knock, you mule." She rolled her eyes and pouted, but soon a sly and mischievous smile crept onto her face. "So, what _were_ you doing, pray tell?"

He looked at his sleeping beauty and bit his lip. "It was nothing."

"_Nothing? _Pah! I was walking in on a love fest, and you call that _nothing?_"

"Leave it alone, Hildegard."

"_No! _Don't mind me, I can turn around so you can finish," she giggled and lived up to her word by facing the doorway.

He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but shut it. He _could _finish what he started... All he wanted was a quick, harmless kiss...

He angrily marched and brushed past Hildegard, swung the door open and slammed it behind him. He had better things to do than listen to her petty banter.

Hildegard jumped slightly as the door was violently closed. She frowned and stomped her foot in irritation. '_Damn Assassins! Damn them all to a pit of mud!'_

She sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms, her chin held high. "I hope fleas infest his undergarments, that pitiful Assassin. _Hmph!_" She began scheming of evil pranks to pull on him, ranging from placing hot peppers in his meals and hiding the water, to throwing a bucket of water at him and watching him run for dear life. '_Oh, thank you, Malik, for telling me he can't swim.'_

Her thoughts were interrupted as the woman lying in the bed moaned. Hildegard swiveled her head to look at her friend, and opened her mouth in shock as Maria's eyes blinked open.

* * *

She was having a pleasant, yet aggravating, dream. She didn't know _why _she would think of _him, _but it sent sparks of pleasure through her when she thought of him—particularly like _that._

She couldn't tell exactly where they were, only that they were together. She was in his arms, being held tightly to him as they pressed their lips against each other's.

Rather, that's what she would have _loved _to dream about. Instead, she leaned in for his warm and feverish kisses, only to have him smirk and move his head back, teasing her. At first, it was somewhat arousing for her, but it became rather frustrating after he had repeated the action four more times. She furrowed her eyebrows together, straining her neck to reach that scar on his lips. She huffed when she her mouth didn't connect with his. He was only about an inch or two away from her, that damn arrogant smirk that she couldn't help but to love plastered on his face. She slid her tongue out, trying to close the short yet painful distance between them.

He flicked his own tongue out against hers and slid his lips over the wet muscle, enjoying the torment he put her through. She whimpered in frustration, but quieted once he cupped her face in his rough, calloused hands. He stared into her eyes as she did the same. His eyes closed as he brought her face closer to his, finally giving her what she desired the most, their lips about to touch—

_Slam!_ The sound killed her dream, gutting it, skewering it like a kebab, ripping it to shreds. She moaned aloud when it ended. _They were so close! Who was the fool that chose to viciously close a door?_

She opened her eyes, only to shut them as sunlight mercilessly bore into them. She groaned again and puckered her lips out. After a few moments, she tried again, and slowly, the blur that was her pitiful vision, became clear. She blinked once more when she fully awoke.

"_M-Maria?"_

* * *

Maria groaned and turned her head to the side to look at Hildegard. The blonde woman was immediately at her side, feeling her forehead for a fever and checking to see if her breathing was normal. She babbled endlessly on how she was 'so grateful' and that she was 'worried sick' about her. She spoke nonstop while scrunching Maria's face in her hands and turning it this way and that, inspecting her for any flaw that she seemed to think she possessed.

Maria frowned at the woman. What was she talking about? Why was she asking her if she was alright? Of course she was alright, why wouldn't she be?

"Are you hurting anywhere? Do you feel nauseous? Uneasy? Unsettled? Do you feel the slightest bit dizzy?"

She slowly shook her head and continued to stare at her. Her grey eyes blinked at her brown ones.

"You... you _do _know who I am, right?" Hildegard asked nervously. She hadn't said a thing and it was beginning to worry her. Why was she just _staring? _God, just make her say something already!

Maria nodded her head slowly. "An angel?" she rasped out. Her voice was feather light and coarse, even though she'd been given water regularly.

Hildegard bit her lip and shook her head sadly. "No, I'm not an angel..."

"Yes you are," she croaked.

"No, I'm not."

"_Yes you are_."

"No, Maria, _I'm not."_

"For the love of _God, _Hildegard_, yes you—HILDEGARD?"_ Her eyes widened upon her revelation and she quickly stared at the blonde woman in front of her. She beamed at Maria, obviously taking pleasure from the other woman as her jaw nearly hit the bed. "H-how—w-why—w-where—when?"

Hildegard laughed and was about to reply when an incoming punch hit her right on the cheek. It wasn't exactly an earth-shattering blow, but it wasn't light and lovely either. She rubbed her cheek and playfully whined, "_Lord Himself! _Those punches of yours need to come with a warning siren, Maria!"

Maria, however, found no amusement in the situation. She stared stubbornly at her friend, waiting for an answer. Hildegard sighed and shrugged. "I helped take care of you for the past week," she said casually. "Don't you... don't you remember _anything?_"

She frowned and shook her head. "Why would I need to be taken care of? Honestly, Hildegard, did you hit your head? Are you alright?"

"It was _you _who had her head hit, Maria," she mumbled. Maria crossed her arms over her chest, but winced at the pain. She blinked, perplexed as to why her body would ache. She slowly pulled one of her sleeves up to her elbow, eyes widening from the sight of having her arm wrapped in bandages.

"What... what _happened_ to me?" she asked quietly. She looked at Hildegard with frightened eyes, waiting for an answer.

"You really don't remember?"

Maria shook her head.

"I don't know the full story myself," she mused—she'd have Altair tell her that later—"but from what I know, you were found at Acre—"

"_Acre."_ Maria's eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. "I was at Acre, yes! I... I beat a man up in a pub... He said my... my breasts were like a man's!" She nodded to confirm herself and continued to remember what had happened a week ago. "I... found a letter... from Damiel, yes, that was it! Found a letter from Damiel. He told me to meet him at... at... somewhere. I can't remember," she groaned. She hit the back of her head against her pillow in irritation and continued to whine.

Hildegard grabbed Maria's head to prevent her from rattling around further. "Please, you need to rest, Maria, you're straining yourself."

"They're gone, Hildegard... They're all gone..."

She frowned. "Who's gone?" It remained silent. She asked again, "Who's gone, Maria?"

"_Everyone._ The Rose, we... we were... we were..." her voice trailed off and her eyelids drooped heavily.

"_The Rose?_ Maria, what happened to the Rose? _Maria!_" She shook her shoulders desperately, fearing for a certain man's life, but sighed in defeat as her eyes closed. She once again was in slumber's deep embrace.

Hildegard slowly removed herself from the bed and held herself as she stared at the wall. What had happened to her friends? Were they in the Holy Land as well? More importantly, what had happened to Aden? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was he... _dead?_

She groaned and shook her head. No, he... he couldn't be dead. He was _Aden!_ He was capable of defeating any man, be it Templar or Assassin...

She looked back over to Maria who was sleeping peacefully. How could she have such a calm and pleasant face on, while Hildegard was experiencing torture and trauma? _Damn it!_

"Nothing more I can do," she sighed. "I'll just have to wait until she wakes up again to ask her more questions. Oh, I hope they're alright..." She walked out the door and slowly shut it behind herself. She knew one thing, though: she would not tell that Altair hound that Maria had finally awakened—not after he had stormed out of that room like a feral mutt.

* * *

Maria's eyes slowly fluttered open after her nap. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs out, but quickly brought them back in to her body when pain shot through her limbs. She sat up in the bed, with some difficulty, and looked out the window. It was pitch black outside and the moon was doing a poor job of lighting her room. Crickets and cicadas sang their love melodies through the night, their chirps audible from even in the room she was resting in.

She slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her bare feet on the smooth stone floor.

'_I can't believe I acted like such a ninny to her! Augh, when did I turn into such a helpless little s'wit?' _She clenched her jaw and slowly flexed her shoulders. They ached, but she'd have to live with it. She wanted answers, and she intended to get them.

Hildegard...

It seemed so ironic to Maria. She left England in search of her best friend, only to have been found by her. That wasn't right, was it? And how _had _Hildegard found her, and, more importantly, where _was she?_ She didn't know this place that she was staying at—no, _held captive against her will at._ And where did Hildegard even go? She wasn't in the room—where was that sneaky little fiend?

She groaned and placed her palm against her forehead. She was beginning to develop a headache from assaulting herself with so many questions. But what _did _happen in Acre, and how was she no longer there? She couldn't recall everything that had happened, only bits and pieces. She remembered being tackled to the bed and having her clothes ripped off of her, but she couldn't recollect how she had sustained such injuries. Was she really _that _vulnerable?

The worst part was she remembered that Earl bastard's disgusting, foul mouth attacking her own and his utterly filthy tongue exploring something that _did not_ belong to him. No, her body belonged to a different man.

She tried to stand on her own two feet, but it proved to be a challenge for her. Her legs buckled and she landed butt first onto the bed once again. She, however, was not going to give up. She had a mission, and she was going to complete it. She attempted the feat once more and had to hold onto the edge of the bed with one hand to support her unsteady legs, while her other hand groped around in the dark. It was painful and time consuming for her; her muscles cried out as she moved them. They weren't healed yet, and she was forcing them into action, even though it was a slow walk.

'_Turtles are probably faster than me,' _she thought with a humorless chuckle. Once there was no more bed to hold onto, she narrowed her eyes in search of the door. She could barely see her hand even if she held it in front of her face. Maria grumbled beneath her breath as she took a wild-shot. She braced herself and gave a little sprang with her toes to haul herself across the room. She tripped over her feet, but caught herself when she softly collided with a wall. She held onto the wall—cursing the fact that the stones were smooth—and began scaling it. She felt around herself, palming this side and that, until she felt cold metal. Maria frowned and ran her fingers over it. A smile slowly curled onto her lips as she realized she was grasping a door handle. She slowly turned it, biting her lip as it squeaked when she pulled it open.

She held onto the door frame, looking out into the hallway that she had just stepped into. Moonlight shone through the windows on either side of the corridor, doing a somewhat decent job as a light source. She was panting by then, sweat slowly starting to form on her brow. She didn't like this feeling of weakness, or the feeling that she was in a place that she _should _have known. Maria shook her head and took small baby steps down the hall.

She leaned against the wall as she hobbled like the fool she was for pushing her body past its limits. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her. She couldn't help but to feel eyes on her—of course, she was the only one in this annoyingly long hallway.

"Stupid Hildegard," she grumbled. "What's she... doing in... a place like this anyways? And where in the name of donkey piss am I?" she stammered between puffs of air. Her legs ached and felt like two useless noodles attached to her hips as she continued to stumble around. "Have to... find Hildegard..."

The end of the hallway was becoming closer, inch by inch. There was a corner, and from there she could take a right and venture further into this ridiculous fortress—was it _even _a fortress, or was she in some sort of royal castle? She began pulling herself along the wall with her arms. It was faster, meaning that she moved just one more extra inch than before, but it taxed her muscles greatly. She bit down on her lip, holding back the whimpers that threatened to escape her mouth. '_Almost there, Maria. You can do this.'_

The corner was just a foot away, beckoning her closer. She quickened her pace, but her foot caught onto her other's heel. She lurched forward, her hands scrabbling against the stone wall for support, but knew that it was pointless. She closed her eyes as the floor became closer to her head, until she became one with—

But it never happened. Instead of smacking her face against the floor, she fell against something broad and white.

* * *

Altair walked through the fortress with all the purpose of a man on a mission. He was frustrated that he had not yet tended to this need inside of him. He was particularly busy that day—annoyed with Hildegard's behavior, bombarded with papers from Malik and the Dai at the main cities, and on top of that, Malik had insisted that new roses be planted in Masyaf's lustful garden. Apparently, the roses were beautiful, yet there were not enough of them. Was it absolutely _necessary _for the man to pester him on such trivial matters when he was in agony? Did his Assassins not see that he gave the briefest squirms in his chair—that he looked side to side nervously from time to time? Ugh, of course not! It'd be too simple on his behalf!

He had to use his chamberpot.

He quickly stepped up a flight of stairs to the waste room. It was a secluded section of the fortress, past the residence hallways and dining areas. His mouth was a grim line of concentration as he walked faster and faster through the hallways. He knew he'd have to take a left turn, and then turn left yet again to be put in the right direction.

He reached the end of the hallway and swerved left, his palms now sweating. He'd been holding it in since morning—_how many hours was that?_

Altair quickened his hustle and bustle and reached the end of the hall, ready to take the final left turn. '_I could always sprint it there.' _That was his plan. Round the corner, then make a beeline to the waste room. He sighed and spun to the left once he had finally made it, only to collide into a flurry of black curls.

Or rather, a person.

He instinctively knelt, catching the woman dressed in a servant's gown just before her forehead hit the floor. His arms wrapped around her waist as her head was cushioned by his chest. She clutched his Assassin robe with her hands as he hoisted her onto her two feet.

"It's unwise for a servant at this hour to be about—you are meant to be in bed," he growled. This was time consuming. He had to _go, for crying out loud!_

She mumbled something unintelligent into his robe and snarled when she felt his hands run along her sides as he pulled her up. He recoiled his head back, not quite hearing what she had said. "What did you—"

"_I said," _she hissed, "_how DARE you call me a SERVANT!"_ She raised her head to send snakes and knives at the man with her fiery grey orbs. Her lip curled back as she glowered at him.

He started to return the facial expression when he realized just _who _was standing before him. His hazel eyes widened as her menacing glare was replaced with a shocked and slightly fearful gape.

Her mouth hung open as her eyes darted all over his face, taking in every detail of the man's tanned skin. Beautiful dark hair, thick, arched, and elegant eyebrows, brown eyes with specks of green in them, a hooked nose, strong jaw with stubble scattered across it, and full lips accompanied by a scar on the right side of his mouth.

He stared right back at her, looking right into those grey eyes that meant the world and more to him. He swallowed once her eyes trailed down to his arms that had unconsciously held her tighter to himself.

Her eyes quickly blazed bright with fury as a year's worth of pain and memories flooded her mind. She brought her hand back and sent him a painful and stinging _smack! _to his cheek. He staggered backwards from the blow, letting her fall from his embrace. She immediately doubled over from the loss of support and hit the stone floor hard with her knees. She hissed and brought her knees out from under herself, laying down on her side. She stared up at him, her teeth bared and muscles in her neck strained and prominent.

"_You..."_ She scraped her nails against the floor and hissed at him.

He rubbed his abused cheek, knowing fully well that she had left a mark. He looked down at her, his urge to relieve himself disappearing instantly. "My apologies," he murmured.

'_Fool! 'My apologies' is what you've been planning to say to her all week? Brilliant, just brilliant.'_

Her eyes flashed violently from his words and she tried to hoist herself back onto her feet, but the attempt was fruitless. Her arms wobbled and soon flew from under her as she tried to push herself back up. She cried out as her stomach smacked against the stone.

Altair was quickly at her side and reached out to assist her, only brought his hand back to himself quickly as she snarled and snapped her teeth at him. He was vaguely aware that the sounds of two pairs of footsteps were making their ways closer to where he and she were.

"_You insolent, disrespectful, flea infested toad! How DARE you—_"

"What in the name of _Allah _Himself is going on here?"

Both man and woman turned their heads to stare at Malik and Hildegard before them. Hildegard seemed ready to faint from seeing Maria ready to tear Altair's throat out. Malik, on the other hand, only narrowed his eyes at the black-haired woman and then turned his attention to his Brother. "Altair, what is the meaning of _this?_"

"_Why didn't you tell me she was awake, Hildegard?" _He stood to his full height and grabbed the woman by her dress' collar. "_Your orders,"_ he hissed at her, "_were to tell me when she finally fought her way through her unconscious state! That is what you'd promised!"_

Maria stared back and forth between her best friend and the man she thought she was finally free of. "You _know_ each other?" she shrieked. "_You... you betrayed me, Hildegard!_"

Hildegard threw Altair's hand off of herself and pleaded, "Maria, please listen to reason! I... He... We... _M-Maria!_"

Maria's eyes rolled back into their sockets and her head would have hit the floor, had Altair not dashed over to where she was laying and rested her noggin on his lap. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair as he looked at Malik and Hildegard—specifically Hildegard.

Malik shook his head, grumbling about a 'long year ahead of them'. Hildegard merely bit her lip and looked down at her feet and mumbled, "She needs rest."

Altair scooped his _habibti_ in his arms and carried her back to her room, being sure to give Hildegard a possessive glare. She sighed, knowing that he'd never trust her with her own best friend again.

He entered her room and placed her back on the bed. Her face seemed troubled, as if she was experiencing a bad dream. He sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed. He didn't want to have their first conversation in over a year be like _that..._

Altair ran a hand through his hair, scrunching his locks between his fingers.

He messed up, he knew that. And he knew that she'd never want to speak with him again.

_What was he going to do?_

* * *

Translations:

_Jameela_ = beautiful (female)

_Bahar = _sea (*One of the meanings of the root word of Maria's name, Mar, means 'sea')

_Ahbal_ = idiot/stupid

_Habibti_ = dear/darling/sweetie/love (feminine)

_Sa arje'o halan _= I will be right back

_yebnen kelp =_ son of a dog

Little FF, Fun Fact here: Damiel's character was modeled after two people: a good friend of mine, and my cousin's cousin. The name 'Damiel' was created when I typed the name 'Daniel' over and over again, and accidentally hit the 'm' key instead of the 'n' key. That's how I came up with his name, ladies and germs! :D!


	16. Chapter 12

Woah shit, must be Christmas already XD Um, no, I don't have my days mixed up, thank you. I have been working on this chapter for over a month now, devoting 20 minutes per day to work on a small, small, small, small, small, small, small, chunk from a scene. Hm. So. Yeah. First, I created this chapter about half a month ago. Then I hated how it turned out. So, I deleted it, threw out my outlines, and started all over again. And la-dee-da, this is the outcome of that. It was a bit hard writing the chapter. I wanted to put so much into it, but I couldn't form the words to do so. SO, I AM GOING TO BE TAKING MY TIME OVER LIKE, the next... 8 chapters? OF DEVELOPING MY PLOT and not cramming it all into one chapter TO MAKE THE STORY if you can even call it that A BIT MORE INTERESTING.

Hah, who am I kidding. I have over 12 different plots running through this baby. THE VEINS ARE DEEP, MAN!

So, time check. it is 9:11. Oh my. I hope that isn't a sign.

Editors were outta town for this one, but let's give 'em a round of applause anyway. I SALUTE YOU, MEADJEAN AND CHRISTINA!

And also cheers to Maki-San, one of my readers, for helping me out with my awful Spanish. You made the story that much better, mi amiga :) Still gotta go back and make corrections to Damiel's dialogue. Think I'll do that right now.

All original characters are property of Ubisoft.

Everyone else is MIIIIINE along with the extra plots that are not found in the original Assassin's Creed game.

'Kay, enjoy XD

**And for my lovely, most recent anonymous reviewer: I'm sorry, but I have no idea how to log in with an iPod- I didn't even know you could do that o.o; I'm sorry :(**

* * *

"First of all, where do I even begin with your outrageous performance last night? Waking up the entire fortress with your ruckus and buckus..! And _no, _I _don't _know if that's even a word! How could you be so careless, Altair? I told you that I haven't let anyone else know about this, this _woman_, as you claim her to be, living inside of our walls! And then you go and destroy my hard work— and believe me, it was _very_ hard keeping it in— by causing a little tantrum in the hallway! Do you want to know how many novices came to me only a few hours ago, asking what all the noise coming from the Residence Hall was? Oh, of _course_ you don't know, because you've been too busy pacing back and forth outside of that she-devil's room!"

Altair sighed as Malik continued to demoralize him, making the trained and skilled Assassin feel little more than just a troublesome boy. They were in the Master's bedchamber, and Malik had forced the man to sit down on the bed so that he was forced to look up at him as he continued his oral punishment.

"And then, when you wake up this morning— though I actually doubt you've slept much— you refuse to attend your work; your _duty. _Instead, you go back to the Residence Halls and pace around with your back hunched over like this," he demonstrated by craning his neck out and taking rather large steps, "looking like the complete _fool _you really are! How many times, Altair, do I have to tell you? _Do not compromise the Brotherhood._"

He frowned and countered, "I do believe, Malik, taking simple walks outside of Maria's room does not compromise our Order."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "But taking walks outside of that cobra's lair, looking like you're expecting an attack with the way your eyes fidget— oh, _don't _try to deny it— certainly makes one believe something is askew. Our Brothers are curious, Altair. And what do we say when they wish to know what plagues the Master's minds?"

"You tell them the truth then, Malik," he said calmly. "They do not deserve to be lied to. They are loyal and faithful-"

"Which is why we _can't _have them know. Altair, are you truly as clueless as you let on to be? You were the one who told _me _that you did not chase after her because you feared what our Brothers would do! You said that they would rid the problem of Masyaf; the problem being _Maria. _And now you want me to go around, skipping with joy and chanting in a soprano tone: Maria Thorpe, the long-lost love of Altair Ibn-La'ahad has returned!" He shook his head at the man. "I will do no such thing-"

"And I never said you had to be so out of character just for me. I am merely saying that if our Brothers wish to know what is wrong with the Master currently, you may tell them that his _friend _Maria Thorpe has returned. You _may not _use the term 'lovers'." He closed his eyes and fell backwards onto his mattress. "Now, Malik, if you will excuse me. I tend to take a brief rest for my eyes."

"Oh, and _then _what? You will be back outside her door with your ear pressed to it, waiting to hear if she's awake yet again. Altair, do you honestly think brooding over her will benefit yourself in any way?" He sighed and shook his head in irritation when all the Master did was yank his canopy curtain closed. "I will remember this, Altair," he growled, "and be assured, you'll regret abandoning your duties as Master!" He raised his chin, even though Altair could not see him through the curtains surrounding his bed. With an insulted _hmph! _Malik left the Assassin's bedroom, being sure to slam the door with all his strength on the way out. The hinges creaked from being abused, but he couldn't care less if the wood had snapped in half from being mistreated.

He fumed furiously as he walked down corridors. He didn't have a particular destination, though, he just wanted to walk his anger off. But he could do without the stares from the novices and intermediates as he past them.

Several of the younger boys were crouched down on the floor, pampering a rather spoiled and giddy canine. Bayo lolled his tongue out and rolled onto his back to have his stomach rubbed. The novices giggled and continued to love and pet the dog. However, as a rather upset looking man with only one arm that reminded the small group of a depressing storm cloud walked right by them, shivers went up each of their spines. Obviously, Malik was not in a good mood, but for what reason? Did he and the Master get into another squabble once more?

Bayo rolled back onto his feet and trotted over to the rain-cloud-of-a-man. He followed him throughout the fortress, wagging his tail and glancing up at him now and then. Something was irking him; it was clear as day. The dog hoped that his cheerful mood would be transferred over to him, though that was not to be the case.

"Pathetic, stupid, ignorant, lovesick man," he grumbled under his breath. "Stupid women.. so much trouble.." He stopped at a window and peered outside. Contrary to his thoughts, it was a beautiful day in Syria. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and even the people of Masyaf that were busy purchasing goods in the market were in bright spirits.

"Hopeless, infuriating, obsessing, aggravating, arrogant novice. The nerve of that man," he pouted. He clenched his hand into a fist and narrowed his eyes. "Always being such a child- never taking responsibility...!" Although, he knew he was wrong. He knew that Altair was under a great deal of stress. He had Assassin's to take care of, Templars to stalk, a city to rule, and a woman to win back. His agenda was pretty full, leaving little room for selfishness. But he still found the time to snooze the day away and to find peace with his shut-eye. Could Malik really blame him, though? Altair spent all night worrying over _her, _pacing back and forth the hallways while running his hands through his hair in frustration. Was being in love such a tragedy? If so, Malik vowed never to fall in love with anyone. The only things he would love would be his job, his Brothers, his purpose, and his kibbeh. Other than that, he was happy being a loner. If women caused so much distress in a man's life, as he saw whenever he glanced at Altair, then he'd be better off without one.

Bayo's ears perked up as a familiar figure made its way over to them. He wagged his tail in greeting as the blonde woman leaned against the windowsill, clicking her tongue at Malik.

"Fester, fester fester," she sighed. "_Rot, rot, rot._"

He growled and rolled his eyes from her quip. "Are you quite done trying to prove a useless point?"

She shrugged easily and simply replied, "Pardon me, but _I'm _not the one getting worked up over the situation. Do you see me hunched over and mumbling to myself? No, you don't."

Malik snorted and glared at Hildegard. "We'll see who ends up fretting in the end, woman."

"Not to mention," she sighed as she gave him an amused smirk, "you do rather resemble a raincloud today, Malik. I mean, I'm just waiting for lightning to surround you and dramatic music to play to match your rather blue mood."

"I am _not _blue today!"

She clicked her tongue and crossed her arms in fake thought. "You're right, you seem a bit red in the face, actually. Is it the sun? I've heard that sometimes it can cause a person to faint or to become dehydrated. Do you need a glass of water?"

He groaned and shook his head at her. "Silence your tongue before I have Bayo do it for you!"

Hildegard raised her hands innocently and half mumbled to herself, "Whatever you say, Mr. Gloomy. Your word is my command, O' Depressing One."

He blinked, then turned on his heel, hoping to rid himself of her. However, the one-armed man would have no such luck. She trotted over and began walking parallel to him.

"Besides," she continued, "you should be in a lighter mood today! Aren't you happy that Altair's found her?"

He grumbled something under his breath and frowned deeply.

She sighed. "I can see not..."

"And are you happy for that woman?"

"Yes, yes I am," she casually said. "Though Altair and Maria hate each other at the moment- or rather, Maria despises him greatly- in time, everything will be normal again and there will be babies everywhere."

Malik muttered to himself once more before hissing out, "Sons of him will be twice as troublesome. It will be my downfall, for sure."

She rolled her eyes and decided to change the subject. There was no use pressing the topic further with the man- she didn't want lightning to produce from his eyes and singe her to a crisp. "Is he going to be a leader then instead of a miserable man?"

"I cannot say for sure, Hildegard. I can only hope."

She bit her lip, then beamed as an idea came to mind. "Maybe we should lock them in a room together? They'd have time to settle things out, wouldn't they?"

He laughed lightly at the thought and gave his companion a look that questioned her sanity. "Why, so we can sew his limbs back on and restuff his entrails?"

"N-nevermind then..."

* * *

Two days later...

"Come on, you pathetic, brainless cloth- _dammit!_" More profanities spilled from her mouth as her attempts were unsuccessful. Maria was trying to remove the bandages from around her less dominant arm, but to no avail. It proved too difficult to do with one hand, but she was determined to find out the extent of her injuries.

Her attempts fatigued her, which, she found to be rather sad and unimpressive on her behalf. Her muscles ached as she tried to tug the bandages off of her, but it had to be done.

Finally, after many frustrating and curse-spewing tries, she managed to unravel it partway down her arm. She stared in shock as scabs and dried blood were revealed to her. She was horrified to find a cut that extended most likely from her underarm to her wrist. How did this happen to her? _When _did this happen to her?

She tried to recall what had happened a little over a week ago. She was at Acre, staring at the sea; she remembered that. Then she beat a rather foolish man up at a tavern, and then...

Then there was the stronghold, and that peculiar '_psst!' _sound. No, but before that, there was the note from Dam-

She groaned and clutched her arm as she tried to bring forth the memory of her obtaining her wounds to her mind. She hissed and tried to rewrap her arm with the bandages, but it proved to be too much for her to handle. She remembered walking into that fortress, following that sound, entering a room...

"_J...J..."_

The last thing she heard before she fell into an unconscious state was her own voice whispering her brother's name.

* * *

It was time to visit her that day. Hildegard was outside doing whatever the Hell that woman found amusing, while Malik was pampering Bayo. It was the perfect opportunity to pay his beloved a visit.

Altair walked briskly down the hall that led to the room she was occupying. He'd learned when she was awake, and when she was sleeping over the past couple of days. And this was the time when she was sleeping, so he'd be safe from her wrath while examining her wounds.

He stopped at her door and was about to turn the handle, but halted his actions as he pondered over his choices. What would he even do in there? Hildegard had already rebandaged her wounds the previous night, and it was still early morning yet. It'd be a waste of the material if he changed her dressings. He slowly withdrew his hand. It'd be pointless to go in there just to see her. She was still bruised and still looked like bloody Hell, even if she was still beautiful to him.

He turned and was about to retreat back into his study, when an agonized groan filled his ears. His head snapped toward the direction of her room, and after several moments of standing there like the fool he truly was, he barreled into the room and was at her side in less than five seconds.

Her expression was pained as she laid in her bed with closed eyes. His gaze settled on her partly uncovered arm, and he immediately took to dressing it once more. Even though she had scabs and the blood had stopped pouring out of her cuts, it could still become infected, and he was not going to take that chance with her.

Once he was done covering her arm back in the cloth, he sighed and stroked her cheek gently, hoping her features would soften. And, sure enough, once his hand made contact with her face, her brow relaxed and a calm expression took the place of a painful grimace. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and admired how soft her skin was. However, he frowned from thinking of how exactly she had ended up in this bed- in Masyaf.

She was in Acre, for some odd reason. What for, though? He remembered Hildegard informing him of a wedding that Maria was to be forced into as the bride, but he saw no ring on her finger. She obviously did not marry. Was Hildegard lying, or did Maria manage to escape this 'Clarence'? Furthermore, what was a _Templar _doing by assaulting his woman?

Nevermind the fact that a Templar almost attempted to claim her, but why were they after Maria? Did they discover her? Were they set on vengeance since she had betrayed them in Cyprus? Or was the man simply controlled by his lust and need for a woman?

Perhaps all his assumptions were wrong. Maybe she was in the Holy Land because she was meeting up with allies. She could have been trying to rendezvous with them in Acre, that was a possibility, sure. But wouldn't his Brothers have known about this? There are good scouts in the Assassin Order, surely they would have known?

Or maybe she returned to Acre just to see him? What if she hoped that she'd find him there? What if she came back for him? He sighed from all the choices in the matter. He could come up with thousands of reasons as to why she was in his life once more, and only one of them would have been the correct answer. It was pointless to storm his brain with so many possibilities.

He discarded the thought, persuading himself that he'd find out from Hildegard once Maria woke and confided what had happened to her.

Still... it was difficult to believe that Maria was _right there_, in front of him. Only a year had past, but it felt like a decade. She was alive and slowly becoming healthy, just what he'd wished for. Yet his heart was still full of sorrow and pain. Was this what all deprived lovers went through, or was it just him?

He removed his hand from her cheek and placed it on her chest, feeling her steady breathing keeping in time with the rise and fall of her pulse. Yes, he was sure of it now. She was alive, and she wouldn't vanish like that dream he had of her nearly a month ago.

With his other hand, he felt his cheek where she had smacked him. It still stung, but only a little. He had a feeling only Maria was capable of doing such a thing to him.

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead before reluctantly leaving her bedside. Making his way to the door, he gave her one last look. Oh, how much he wanted to join her in bed, wrap his arms around her, and hold her tightly to himself. How much he wanted to share his warmth with her, and to have her share her warmth with him.

How strange that only Maria had the power to cast such a spell on him.

* * *

The Master of Assassins was not the only one perplexed as to how they were feeling such a foreign emotion. Hildegard kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she walked through Masyaf's marketplace. Like her mood, the weather wasn't anything to brag about. Dark clouds hung in the sky, and a chilly wind occasionally swept through the sparse grass and sandy pathways. She sighed out of depression.

'_Altair has his lover back— what about the one that I truly care for?'_

What of her Aden? Where was he, and why wasn't he with Maria? Surely the Rose would have traveled together and not left anyone behind in England?

Was he even alive? Oh, she wished she knew that answer. She dearly wanted to see him; to see that charming and handsome grin on his beautiful face. She could just picture him in her mind.

He'd be standing there, his black hair that reached his chin slightly disheveled. His posture alone told of how confident and successful he was. He was always standing up straight, which only made him look taller, and by _God, he was tall! _Perhaps he was even taller than Robert?

Like Zaina and many Arabs, his skin was dark and he had brown eyes like a typical Middle Easterner. It was such a common characteristic, yet the man made it seem special and unique in a way she couldn't quite describe. He was always elegant, save for whenever he was around Damiel. Those two were like arguing children sometimes.

Oh, and Damiel. What she'd give to see his silly and immature grin! She missed his unimpressive jests and how he'd always manage to put a smile on someone's face, albeit in strange ways. Hildegard missed how he and Aden would always bicker like two old ladies. Their arguments were always about something unimportant or stupid, but yet they brightened her day. She remembered while in the Crusades, Aden and Damiel had first met. It was all going well, until Damiel had claimed himself a 'pro-Arab'.

By God, it was no surprise that when Damiel started screaming, '_yalla, yalla, yalla!'_ at Aden, the older man had slugged him one right in the face. Damiel declared while in England that he still had that bruise, but that only earned him a swift kick in the leg from Aden.

By the Heavens and Afterlife, she missed the Rose. She prayed with all her heart that everyone was still alive and not in the condition she had found Maria in.

'_Oh, Benjamin, why couldn't you be here now to tell me everything will be fine? You always knew what was going to happen, and you always had a trick up your sleeve to counter any surprise circumstances.'_

What had even happened to the old veteran? Was _he _even still alive? Or... or were they all dead? What of her friends? Did they all leave England to look for her, a woman that had stubbornly ran away? Or did they leave because of that idiot Clarence and his ridiculous wedding?

And then there were the survivors of the Rose: Maria, Bayo, and herself. Was Maria her only friend left alive? Would she _stay _alive, or would Fate decide to rob her not only of the man she admired most, but also of her best friend?

And what of Altair? Would Maria and Altair sort through their complicated relationship and make amends? And would Maria even remember what had happened to her, or why she was even at Acre to begin with? Or would she be deprived of her memory and shut Altair out of her life, completely ignoring him and attempting to move on? No, she couldn't do that...

Hildegard saw the love in Altair's eyes for that woman. She saw the admiration, adoration, lust, love, respect, and responsibility he harbored for her. For them to be apart would be untruthful to each of them. He wanted to live by Maria's side for the rest of his days— could Maria be so blind as to not see that?

It seemed so right and natural for the two to start a family and have children. The stillborn that Maria birthed looked so much like the father... Any child that the two would have would be beautiful like their parents.

Though, the thought of 'making' a family caused Hildegard to blush. It wasn't any of her business, she knew that. She was pretty sure she'd live from not knowing what may happen in a bedroom if those two decided to share it. If they both loved each other and vowed to stay together, fine, she couldn't care less what they did.

Maria told Hildegard of that night on the tower, however. It was their rare girl-talk, whenever one would be able to leave their sanctuary to visit the other. Maria told her everything that had happened. She told Hildegard of his kisses, how he felt and tasted her, and how he had marked her. Hildegard had listened faithfully, but was also ashamed to admit to herself that she was jealous.

She, being a former prostitute, never experienced that type of love from a man. Many men had had her in bed, but not one of them had truly loved her. And then there was Maria, the type of woman Hildegard had thought to not want a man or any partner in life. It broke Hildegard's heart when Maria told her how much she hated that man, how she had regretted ever meeting him.

How could she say such a thing? It was clear as day that Maria's eyes betrayed her words. Those grey eyes nearly screamed that she wanted him so badly, that she wanted to be in his arms forever. Did she honestly expect Hildegard to believe her?

She sighed sadly and headed back towards the castle. No doubt Malik would have been wondering where that pesky, annoying woman went. The more she walked toward the fortress, the closer her feet brought her back to the problem at hand. And the more she neared Altair and Maria, the more pain she suffered.

She wanted those two to be one in body and soul. She wanted them to have a family and have children. She'd always imagine them as herself and Aden, though; something that would never be.

* * *

Three days later...

Altair sat at the small desk in his room as he unbuckled the gauntlet on his left hand. He turned his head at the sound of snoring and rolled his eyes as he saw that Bayo had made the foot of his bed a place to sleep. He'd have to teach the dog that the bed was not for hounds to rest in.

He pulled the bracer off and set it on the table. He studied the hidden blade, wondering if there was a way to wield it without the removal of a finger. Was it even possible? He extracted the blade from its sheath and furrowed his brow as he examined the design and angle of the blade.

"Perhaps, if the degree of the blade was bent slightly forward, making it obtuse and not straight..." he wondered aloud. He shook his head as he disagreed with himself. To do that would mean that the gears inside of the bracer would have to be removed and angled differently, and that the gauntlet itself would have to be redesigned. He would have done it himself, but he had no idea how to. Finding the blueprints that instructed how to craft the Assassin weapon was still on his to-do list as Grandmaster.

It was ironic to him. He had always used his hidden blade to claim a targeted life, yet he didn't know the first idea on how it was made. Yes, he would most certainly have to dig through Al Mualim's library and former study to find the manual.

He breathed out deeply and leaned back in his chair. The sun had already departed from the world hours ago, and soon, it would be morning. There was no way in his tired state that he'd be able to think of a new design for the blade. He decided that he'd look into the idea later, with the help of Malik and possibly a few of the blacksmiths.

With that out of his mind, he tried to find something else to occupy himself with. He needed to be having his brain on overload, or he knew he'd be thinking about _her. _He didn't want to think of her because he knew that by doing so, it'd cause worry and desperation. As a leader, he couldn't let his weaknesses show to his people, and he'd been doing a poor job of that lately. But, he could still live with someone to talk to...

He wished he could talk to her. He hadn't visited her in three days. He'd only asked Hildegard how she was. Apparently, her wounds were healing slowly still, but she was healthier. She had no fever, thank God, and the bruises had faded partially from her face.

It was lonely nights like the one he was experiencing when he just wanted someone to talk to. Malik was acceptable when it came to conversation, but the man usually only criticized him or mocked him. It was good natured, but he'd never really listen to what he was saying. What Altair wanted most at the moment was someone who would sit down and listen to him drone on and on about his problems without interrupting him. And then, when he was done confiding to them, they'd give him advice. That's what he wanted.

His mind was plagued. The Templars, Rose, Acre, Maria, Clarence, the wedding, and Cilicia, Armenia were all his thoughts. He wondered, if he was on good terms with her, if Maria would listen to him. Was she the type of woman to?

Was she the type of woman that would read before going to sleep? He knew that some of his Brothers did just that. They mainly read the Koran or other novels (fighting manuals, of course). Or, was Maria the type of lady who would keep a journal and write in it, like he did, before bedtime? After all, she was always curious to know what he was writing about while on their voyage to India.

Or, was she the type of woman that immediately got down to business once she was dressed in a nightgown and just slept?

'_Did Maria even wear a nightgown to begin with?'_

Or did she wear short pants that only reached her mid-thigh and a loose tunic like he did? Oh, how sad it was that he didn't even know something so simple about the woman he loved. But, would she wear it? He knew she wore men's clothing while out and about, but did she also sleep in them as well?

Or did she just wear her undergarments? Or perhaps she was the type of person that slept while being full-out nude?

He shook his head from the thought. He didn't want to think about her bare. But, of course, he was a man, and he did just that. Such beauty and grace she beheld while wearing nothing but her own strong womanly body. The scars on her pale flesh only added to her looks— at least, to him they did. Those 'flaws' told stories of her beliefs and hardships she endured while disguising herself as a man. It was admirable that a woman would go to such lengths just to prove herself to society.

To Altair, a confident and capable woman was more attractive than a curvy, seducing and luscious woman. Of course, he had found certain fleshy areas of Maria's anatomy that were plump and ample where a man was not quite pleasurable.

He smiled from the thought. He shamelessly admitted to himself that he liked thinking of her naked. He'd be the only man that would see her as the woman that hid behind armor; the woman she truly was. He felt privileged, and would be sure to keep it that way.

Throwing his head back, he let off a moan of deprivation. He'd enjoy to have her at night. No, in fact, he'd _love _to have her right then and there. It was all so frustrating for him. She was in the fortress— _so close!_ But he couldn't have her. He couldn't even speak to her. What he loved the most in life was taken from him, but at the same time, it was haunting him and teasing him. She was just out of reach.

He stood from his chair and made his way to his bed and pulled his shirt over and off his body.

Did she feel the same way? Did she see this awkward predicament as a punishment as he did?

Did she like to think of him nude?

Altair looked at himself in the mirror across the room. He was never concerned about his body-weight or being out of shape. It was never really something he thought about. He was always exercising and training, so he was always in shape. He was confident with what he looked like, but more importantly, he didn't care.

Maria had a strong body as well, surely she'd want her man to have an even stronger body? And he did. He was a man, and therefor he was capable of having more muscle than a woman. Did she like the way he looked?

He kicked his boots off and slid his pants and undershorts down to his ankles. Did Maria like seeing him bare on the tower? Was his manhood satisfying to her? He himself was content with his size, but what if he bored her?

"This is ridiculous," he growled to himself. "Of course she wasn't bored-"

But what if she didn't even care?

"How can that be though?" He frowned and placed a hand on his hip while the other stroked the stubble on his jaw. He turned his head around when he heard the dog whine on the bed. The animal was looking at him with a curious tilt of his head.

Altair walked over to him. "As I recall, she was quite loud on the tower," he mused to no one in particular. Bayo tilted his head even further. "Moans, gasps, and even short screams came out of that woman's mouth."

Bayo crossed his legs elegantly as he listened.

"Perhaps she didn't even want me atop her?"

Bayo buried his head in his paws and whined.

Altair rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for even considering such foolish thoughts. Quickly, he pulled his undershorts back on and climbed into bed. Bayo was still whining into his paws.

The man closed his eyes, wishing that Maria was there with him to hold his tossing and turning at bay. With much anger, he pulled out his pillow from beneath his head and held it as close to him as possible.

He could always imagine...

* * *

She groaned in discomfort as she felt hands hold her down. Plump, greasy, disgusting hands...

She frowned and gasped in pain. It felt as if a blade was running up and down her body, slicing at her flesh. She bit her lip in pain. Her body ached and she felt as if she was lit on fire.

Slowly, a sticky red substance covered her skin. She felt the fat hands rove up and down herself, prodding sensitive flesh and tightly gripping two bloody mounds.

She could feel his putrid breath on her skin as his lips trailed up and down her neck.

_Earl..._

She opened her mouth to scream, to call for help, but no sound came out. Her throat was dry, and her voice was nowhere to be found. She found herself panicking, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She thought it would burst from her ribcage at any given second; it was thumping so hard.

The hands slowly closed around her throat. They tightened, choking the air inside of her. Her own hands scrabbled against the man's, desperately trying to tear him away from her. Soon, her vision became blurred and her body refused to respond to her. She tried to move, to kick this man off of her, but it wouldn't happen. She couldn't even flinch.

Never in her life did she want to be saved so badly. But, who was there to save her?

She knew who the answer was, and just as she thought of him, she could see him in her mind. Where was he? Why wasn't he ridding herself of this man invading her? Didn't he... didn't he love her?

Why wasn't her eagle the man riding her?

Summoning the last ounce of strength she had, she screamed his name as a final and hopeful attempt to be free.

* * *

"Honest to Allah, why does _no one _like kibbeh?"

"I like it, it's just a bit... too dry? I don't know, it seems like it's missing something. Maybe if you added some spices?"

"That would surely ruin it! It's perfect the way it is!"

"Well, _pardon me_, but so far, every novice that you'd asked has said the same thing. It's too dry and bland."

"Hmph! You just don't know good food from bad food!"

"_Oh, _believe me, I know shit from food when I see it, and kibbeh is _shit_."

Malik rolled his eyes and allowed Hildegard to walk in front of him. After all, with her back to him, she wouldn't be able to see his eyes narrowing and glaring at her. Lucky him.

"Here we are," Hildegard sighed when they finally reached Maria's room. She was carrying Maria's breakfast on a tray. Malik had offered to join her since his two options were either to strangle Altair out of bed or to give Hildegard some company. The latter had won that small debate.

She turned around to address the man. "Now, remember what I told you-"

"No sudden movements, no mentioning the Master, and absolutely 'no nonsense'. Yes, yes, I understand."

"And _no _mentioning of Acre either. Understand?"

He groaned and balled his hand into a fist. "You try my patience with your orders. I'll stay in the doorway if it'll suit your needs."

Hildegard opened her mouth to scold him, but frowned and raised an eyebrow at him as she heard strange noises come from Maria's room. She and Malik both looked at each other, blinked, then immediately barged through the door.

The blonde's eyes widened when she saw her friend kick the blankets off of her and grasp the sheets on either side of her in her sleep. Maria thrashed and gasped, as if she was being attacked. Hildegard quickly set the tray on her nightstand and hurried over to the woman. Malik, however, had stayed true to his word and stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do.

She was screaming for him, tears streaming down her face as her pleas became more and more terrifying and frightful. Hildegard grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her awake, but it proved useless.

"_ALTAIR! KILL HIM, ALTAIR!"_ Maria threw her head back as she continued to beg for him to save her. Hildegard frowned, and pulled her hand back. With one rather powerful _smack! _to her cheek, Hildegard gave a rather satisfied and proud smile as Maria woke up with a gasp.

Sweat caked her skin as she panted heavily. Her eyes darted around the room, and she stared at Hildegard as if she was the Devil. However, once she realized that it was her best friend she was looking at, she breathed out in relief and her body instantly relaxed.

She muttered beneath her breath, "Bloody dream..."

Hildegard's smug grin grew slightly as she took her friend's hand in her own. "I never knew you were the type to be afraid of nightmares, Maria."

Maria rolled her eyes at her friend. "And I never thought you'd be stupid enough to think such a thing." Her quirky smile, however, meant that she was merely jesting, and Hildegard laughed at that.

Reaching back over to the nightstand, she picked up the tray of cheese, bread, and fruits and offered it to the injured woman. "Even if you're in a good mood today," she began as she placed the tray on Maria's lap, "you're bound to be hungry. It's almost midday."

Maria simply nodded and nibbled on a piece of bread while Hildegard made her way over to the window. She undid the latch and swung it open, sighing from the fresh breeze that welcomed her. "It's a beautiful day today, Maria. Why, this place is so charming sometimes. The mornings are always so peaceful, the people idly walking, birds chirping..." her voice trailed off as she sighed once more in admiration. "I only wish that England was like this." She turned around to give her friend an assuring smile, but stared in disbelief at what she saw.

The tray, that was practically invisible due to the amount of food placed upon it, was picked clean by that gluttonous woman! Maria sat, her mouth puckered while she stared at the empty tray. She glanced at Hildegard, as if to ask, "more please?"

Hildegard blinked for a few moments before shaking her head in wonder and sitting back down at the bedside. "Fatty."

Maria frowned and crossed her arms to the best of her injured ability. "I am highly insulted that you say such a thing. Do I _look _round and plump to you?"

"Well, if you want my honest opinion, you look like you've been dragged through a cow pasture and through their droppings," Hildegard shrugged. Maria's frown only deepened.

"Oh? Well, Hildegard, _you _look like you hired a blind man to groom your hair and dress you. Good Heavens, I do believe your hair resembles a rose bush in need of desperate trimming."

Hildegard raised an eyebrow in offense. "Is that so? Well, I believe I've never seen a dry person look so sodden and slimy in my life."

"_Slimy?_"

"Yes, slimy! My God, it's as if you used horse saliva as shampoo!"

Maria lowered her head and her eyebrow began twitching. "At least I don't resort to horse _shit _like _someone _in the room."

Hildegard gasped and placed a hand on her chest out of hurt noble dignity. "Why, such impudence! At least I do not relieve myself in the bed! _I _actually know what a chamberpot looks like!"

"Oh, yes, I do as well, as one is speaking to me right now! I'd relieve on you if you'd only visit me at a more convenient hour!"

The blonde female gawked and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Thou shan't tinkle on me!"

"I _shall_ tinkle on thee!" she barked back. "And while I'm at it, I may even use you as my personal rag to clean the floors!"

"You'd use a tinkled-on rag to clean floors?" she asked in horror.

"Yes, I shall use a tinkled-on rag to clean floors! That way, you'd have to clean them again!"

Hildegard huffed and glared at Maria. "If I am used to clean floors, you'd be used to do the laundry!"

"At least I won't be tinkled on!"

"True, but you'd have to go through the undergarments! Such messy jobs are most certainly not the work of a lady," Hildegard stated, her nose held highly in the air, looking down upon Maria.

Maria merely snorted and suggested, "And what is? Being relieved upon?"

Hildegard's eyes blazed with anger as she growled at Maria.

Maria's eyes blazed with challenge as she gave Hildegard a mocking sneer.

They sat there, glowering at each other for some time, before they both turned the corners of their mouths up in smiles.

"'Thou shan't tinkle on me'? Hildegard, what in God's name possessed you?" Maria laughed. Hildegard merely shrugged and chuckled to herself. Maria gave her friend a toothy grin before wrapping her arms around her, as did Hildegard.

"It's been too long, Maria," Hildegard sighed as she embraced her most trusted friend.

Maria nodded in agreement. "Far, far too long, my friend."

Hildegard pulled away from her companion to look her over. "Good grief, Maria. It's only been nearly a month, and yet it seems like years. How are you feeling?"

"Not too spectacular."

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Everywhere."

"Are you tired?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Do you need anything? Is there something you need?"

"Answers would be absolutely love- who is _that?_" Her eyes instantly narrowed as she looked over Hildegard's shoulder at Malik. Little did they know that he had been horrified from the women bickering with each other.

The cripple returned the look and crossed his arm.

Hildegard followed Maria's gaze and gave an uneasy smile to her friend. "He's... an acquaintance I've made while being here."

"Pleasure," Maria stiffly mumbled. Had it not been for her aching limbs, she would have been standing with pride while speaking. However, her limited abilities, thanks to her condition, proved to be amusing to Malik.

He gave a small smirk, and replied, "It's _so _good to finally meet you. Why, I've heard _so _much about you over the past year."

Maria blinked, then looked at Hildegard for an answer as to what he was inquiring. Her friend, however, was too busy giving a dangerous stare at the man as a warning to meet Maria's eyes.

But Malik wasn't done- not yet, at least. It'd been too long for the man since he had some fun with twisting his words as to confuse a person. After all, he was still edgy with Hildegard since she had insulted one of his favorite dishes. He'd be able to handle that woman's wrath later- _after _he was done entertaining himself.

"Sometimes people even talk about you while moaning to themselves, even," he mused aloud.

Maria turned her head to the side and her glare became more suspicious.

"Or, a few times they take baths and choose to mention your name here and there-"

"_Malik."_

"Oh, and I mustn't forget to add that they wrap their arms and legs around sheets and pillows and mumble your name under their breath-"

"_Malik!"_

"Don't interrupt me, Hildegard, I'm not finished yet." And finished he was _not._ He was practically innocent while jeopardizing Altair's secrets. Besides, he should have _never _abandoned his responsibilities as Grandmaster. Revenge was delicious.

He took in a quick breath and was about to continue his embarrassing harassment, had it not been for Hildegard throwing the food tray at him. His eyes bulged out of his head as he ducked, barely missing the tray. He remained in a crouching position while he looked over his bad shoulder as the tray clanged to the floor behind him. Slowly, he turned his head toward Hildegard and gulped.

"I-I suppose I'm quite finished," he stuttered. Hildegard gave him a devilish grin before glancing back at Maria. The woman, however, was still staring intently at Malik, though, was no longer frowning at him.

"You look familiar," she spoke at last. "Do I... do I know you from somewhere?"

Malik recoiled his head back and shook his head as a 'no'. "I've never seen you before today, woman."

"Do you mock me?" she challenged. He shook his head once more. "Malik, was it?"

"Indeed. Maria, was it?"

The injured Englishwoman raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I swear I've seen you before- come closer." He, however, was reluctant to take orders from her. He only obeyed Altair's word and that was it; end of story. Though, he _did _partly obey Hildegard's requests, but now another woman kicking him around like a dog? Then he thought of what would happen if Altair ever found out that he disregarded his precious Maria. Judging by that sneaky little sneer on Hildegard's face, that was _exactly _what the bitch was planning to do to him if he didn't listen...

The thought of Altair's wrath upon him quickly made his mind up.

He bit the inside of his mouth and slowly walked over to the bedside. Her eyes settled on his own, and he felt as if those grey pools could see through his entire soul. He didn't break the contact, but shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Your eyes look so familiar," she whispered. "You are sure we've never met before?"

He swallowed and bobbed his head up and down. He wanted to pull his gaze away from her demonic light eyes- the eyes of the European heathens. He didn't believe the foolish stories that fanatics raved about how the Land to the West was home to monsters and murderers that wished to purge the land of all that were unequal to themselves. The Crusaders justified that theory, but there were some from Europe that merely wanted to explore and wished not to fight.

"I am positive, woman."

She bit her lip and tilted her head to the side as she still searched his eyes for any answer. "Perhaps I've seen one from your family?"

"No, it is only me. No one else," he quickly stammered. There was absolutely no possibility that she knew who _he _was. He saw the soldiers at Solomon's Temple that had claimed his brother's life and also his arm, and she was not one of them.

"I see," she sighed in disappointment. She finally blinked and let her eyes leave his. "Forgive me, I'm still a bit loopy from these injuries," she said while gesturing toward her arms and legs.

While she had halted meeting his eyes, he had not. "There was no harm done, friend." Hildegard's eyes immediately snapped toward him and as he said this and she stared questioningly at him. He blinked, then glanced back and forth between Hildegard and Maria.

"I must take my leave," he stated breathlessly. "The Master would wish to speak with me." He didn't wait for either of the two women to give a reply. Malik immediately turned on his heel and walked out of the door.

'_Allah...'_

He allowed his feet to take him out of the fortress and lead him up to Masyaf's ramparts.

* * *

"Grandmaster Malcolm? You wished to speak with me?" Christopher slowly opened the door to the Templar's study and allowed himself to enter as the man waved him over. The Templar Leader was standing on his balcony, his hands folded neatly on the small of his back. He was staring out at the night sky, his body in this world yet mind in another.

Christopher approached him and stood beside the man, following his gaze out to the stars in the heavens.

"Nature is a beautiful thing, is it not, Christopher?"

The Templar turned his head to his master and he nodded. "Yes, I too have noticed the beauty of the world. Spring is probably the most astonishing time of year."

"Nature is only admirable when man does not ruin it, Christopher. I would have thought that a man with your knowledge and wisdom you would have known this."

"Sir?" Christopher turned a corner of his mouth down and angled his head to the side.

"Do you know why I summoned you, my dear Christopher?" Malcolm's eyes never left the starry night. His mouth would quirk side to side occasionally, as if he had a rotten piece of meat in his mouth and he was desperately trying to find a way to discard it without seeming rude.

Christopher nodded and cleared his throat. "You wanted to discuss Earl's orders, yes? I believe it'd be wise if we told him-"

"Earl is dead," Malcolm stated flatly. "He's been dead for over a week now, Christopher. I think dead men are not capable of carrying out orders, are they?"

The Templar blinked and sighed. He lowered his gaze down to the stone beneath him and shook his head. "How did he die, Master?"

"The Assassin disposed of him, apparently. It seemed that Earl strayed from our Brothers and decided to take the matter dealing with the Piece of Eden into his own hands- as well as Maria Thorpe."

"Earl... he was always so brash and hasty with his decisions. I only wished that he could have had sense touch his mind before his death-"

"Nevermind his death, Brother. Nature intended it to happen, and we must respect God's beauty."

Christopher understood that mourning over the loss of a comrade was respectful, yet a waste of time. No matter how many tears would fall, none would ever bring back the life of one that had past. However, Christopher did not understand why there was a small smile on Malcolm's lips, as if he had anticipated Earl's death.

The patient man bobbed his head side to side. "Master, I'm aware it may seem beyond my bounds, but you speak as if Earl's murder is a holiday- something to be celebrated and then forgotten the next day. He was our ally, one of us, Master."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed and he swallowed. Christopher pressed on. "You _didn't _purposely have him killed, did you?"

"The blame is not with me, dear Christopher. The fault lies with the Assassin's and their cursed leader-"

"And you chose to leave him alone at Acre, unsupervised? Sir! I believe in my cause, but I do _not _believe in treachery."

"Christopher, you fail to notice something. Earl died because he was _weak._ The weak do not survive in this world, Brother. Earl perished since he lacked this strength."

"Earl was a good fighter, even if he did not possess anything in here," Christopher tapped the side of his head. "He was a pawn to you, a useless heap of flesh."

"As I recall, you and Earl were never the best of friends. Why is it that you defend him here?"

"I would defend _any _man that was butchered because his master deemed him unworthy of our cause. You could have had him stay in England. He could have funded us. He has an army, Malcolm. You could have used him as a way to supply weapons for our own men. But instead you chose to send him out to Acre, fully knowing that his mind would be lost to his selfish need of a woman's flesh. You let him _die, _Malcolm. You killed one of our own. I view that as betrayal."

"And I view your accusation as being defiant toward ME, your LEADER." Malcolm turned to fully face his man. The look he gave him was that of fury and impatience. "He weakened our faction, Brother. Can you not understand that?"

"As I've said before, Malcolm, you acted unreasonably and there was another solution-"

"Oh, I know I could have left him in England so that he'd supply us with arms. However, dear Christopher, I've already taken over his army. The moment he left England, his territory was no longer his. He had no claim left. He was merely a peasant; a pathetic existence. Oh, I let him _think _that he had the power of men at his disposal, but my God, I could not risk his disobedience any longer."

Christopher balled his fists and breathed deeply as he stared at his master's boots. "You fooled him? You tricked him and deceived him? How do I not know that you will not do the same to our other Brothers?" _How do I know that I am serving God and not a mad man?_

"And that is why I summoned you here, Christopher. You're the only sensible one in the Templar Order. You see, I am currently purging our title of weak links. I can't just remain as Grandmaster and watch as the fools in our Order destroy us!"

"You weaken us by killing our Brothers. Who, pray tell, will take their places?" Christopher looked up into the man's eyes. What he saw in those cold, blue depths of deceit was anything but pleasant.

"As you know, my family has been a high-standing dynasty for years. We are well bred and well trained. We do not suffer from self-indulgence like others, Christopher. I plan, once I rid us of our most beloved idiots, to have my brothers rise to their position."

"You wish to have all the power, then? Is that it? Is that why you killed Earl?"

Malcolm sighed and clicked his tongue. "You say that _I _killed him, Christopher. Yet, your words tell me that you _knew _how easily manipulated his mind was. As I was told, you two shared dinner together at your estate before he left for Acre. Is that correct?"

Christopher exhaled and flared his nostrils.

"I take that as a confirmation. If anyone is going to be accused, _you_ could easily be called the murderer, Christopher. If I were you, I'd keep my mouth tightly shut. Pretend as if we've never even had this conversation in our lives."

"I cannot promise you anything. Even if I am sent to the dungeons, the truth is still out there. Someone will find out, and you will witness your own fall... _Master._"

Malcolm laughed and gave a dangerous, toothy snarl to his ally. "Oh? What is this, Christopher? Your empty threats are just that: _empty_. You have no proof that I am in the wrong, even if I did betray a Brother. What will you say to those that have half the mind to hear your weak words? 'Malcolm _said _that he sent Earl to Acre so that he'd be killed by the Assassin'? Is that your plan?"

He bit his lip and admitted his defeat. "I don't know what I will say-"

"_Exactly!" _Malcolm threw an arm into the air, his thumb pinched to his fingers as he shook it violently at Christopher._ "_Even if someone believed you, they wouldn't have the power to stand up to me. I take it that you know of our alliance with Armenia?"

"It isn't an alliance yet," Christopher barked back. "You still have to convince the Rupinian's to join our cause. They will not involve themselves in a war like ours unless they benefit from it."

"Oh, but they _do _benefit from it," Malcolm smirked. "You are familiar with John of Brienne, yes?"

"Yes, he supplies us with men and raves about how spectacular the Templar's are," he scoffed irately. "What does this have to do with the Rupinian's?"

"It seems that we are beneficiaries to dear John. He's most set on aiding the Templar's, even if he is not one of us. Did you know that his family is currently looking for an opportunity for more investment and land?"

Christopher took a step back. "You plan on having him create an alliance with the Rupinian's? How, though? Levon would never side with a man that is helping an army. Armenians are not fighters, Malcolm. They are spectators and negotiators; observant and cunning. You expect Levon to shake hands with John and agree to join us?"

Malcolm sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration. "King Levon and I are on good terms, Christopher. He and I have been communicating lately, and it seems that he too would be thrilled if we rid the world of these pesky Assassin's. I do not expect him to 'shake hands', as you put it. However, John is inclined to join his family with the Rupinian's- through marriage."

Christopher gawked and furiously swiveled his head back and forth. "You cannot decide who the next heir of that family will be! This is treason, Malcolm! You have no business butting your head into the affairs of a King and his people! Who would John even marry in that family? I highly doubt King Levon would send his deceased wife as a treaty between two dynasties!"

Malcolm took in a calming breath in hopes to settle his nerves. Christopher was upset, he knew that. But he had to confide in _someone._ "He has a daughter; Rita Rupinian. She is young and too spirited to grasp the concepts of our Order. I've heard also that she is quite the looker. She'll prove useful to our purposes and also as John's plaything."

"Rita Rupinian is not even twenty years of age yet! And I do not think it wise to assume things about a person. She could be just as cunning as her mother was-"

"And that is why she was killed," Malcolm snarled. "We don't need another Armenian bitch running around. I'm trusting that if Levon's daughter throws chaos at us, John will silence her one way or another. I don't think you grasp the situation, Christopher." He licked his chapped lips. "If we acquire Armenia as one of our territories, we will have Masyaf surrounded. Already our men are distributing themselves to cities bordering that pathetic fortress. If, per chance, the Assassin's were to escape, they'd have nowhere to go. Armenia borders Syria to the north, and once the Templars are united with Armenia, we will begin having Levon's men trained and stationed to the east of Syria as well."

"You are planning on choking them? They still have the water- I doubt you can take _that _away from them."

"Yes," Malcolm grumbled. "They have their precious Mediterranean right at their disposal, unfortunately. And to make things worse, that Hashashin trash, Alejandro, has been killing off our men stationed in Spain. We're even having trouble escaping to England, thanks to Baldwin and his ilk. The man and his damn sons- not to mention his men- will soon be too much for us to handle. Even France, as you and I occupy this _chateau_, is threatened by those Spaniards."

"Then perhaps it was not the best idea to have Earl killed, Malcolm. You, saying that we are slowly being clenched in an eagle's talons, only proves that what you did was unjust and wrong."

"Aha!" Malcolm chortled. "No, we are not being destroyed by the Assassin's, Christopher. Let the heathens think what they want. We have Seer's army, don't forget. And we have spies and informants almost everywhere. Not to mention we will soon have control of Cilicia, Armenia. We'll corner Masyaf from the north and also have control of the Mediterranean."

"And if Alejandro intervenes?"

He gave a blasé wave of his hand, as if what Christopher had asked was the most irrelevant question regarding the conversation. "Then Seer will deal with him. Alejandro already fears us. I doubt he forgets what we did to his wife."

Christopher frowned and crossed his arms. "Just because you wiped the poor woman clean of her memory does not guarantee a man will be afraid. Rather, he'd be anxious to seek revenge and mutilate us!"

"Then he will be angry, which will make him stupid," he drawled smoothly.

"He is the _Maestro de Asesino's!_ You speak of him too lightly, Malcolm! I'd bet all my money that he _does _remember what his wife suffered from the Templar's, but do _you _remember when he claimed most of Spain back from us? How he and David's men collaborated and purged France almost free of us? We are lucky to even be occupying Chateau Narbonnais!"

"He _almost _destroyed us, Christopher!" Malcolm roared. He jabbed the man in the chest with his forefinger and growled devilishly, "_Almost! _But he did not succeed because he proved incompetent! Do you see? You put a woman in war and a man's mind turns inside out! If we had not managed to kidnap his precious Estela and rape her- in more ways than one- we would have _never _beaten them back to their home!"

"Andorra is a well protected city, The Pyrenees Mountains surround Andorra, don't forget that. We cannot just penetrate through a mountain, Malcolm! It'd take weeks- no, _months, _even- to trek through the peaks! By then, our men would be exhausted, and what proper battle would we hold against the Assassin's, hm?"

"You are absurd!" Malcolm sneered. "You give little to no credit to our men, Christopher! Why, I think you-"

"Enough," Christopher backed away and held a hand up to his master. "I think I've taken in as much as possible tonight. No doubt I'll get any sleep tonight either."

Malcolm nodded and folded his hands behind himself once more, as if he was waiting for someone to offer him a cup of tea. "We will leave this between you and myself, Christopher. I hope those lips of yours prove not to be loose."

"And I hope your decisions prove not to be foolish-"

"Clarence will be the next one, Christopher," he whispered. "He's too easy to rally and make angry. Another weak link in our beliefs."

"And another Brother to betray," he muttered bitterly. "You're going too far with this, Master. My God, what will you have him do?"

All Malcolm gave him as a reply was a wry, devious smirk.

* * *

Four days later...

"Bayo, _unmouth_ that cloth!" He stared long and hard at the dog, but he only wagged his tail and pranced around the room playfully, still holding his master's red sash. "Let _go _of it, _ahbal!_" The man pounced on the dog and pinned him to the floor, partly forgetting that this was a war dog he had just leapt onto.

Bayo growled and snapped his teeth. He wriggled out from beneath his master and ran to the other side of the room, the red cloth still in his mouth. Bayo shook his head back and forth, whipping the cloth to and fro. He outstretched his forelegs as he raised his hindquarters into the air and gave the man a challenging stare.

"This is no time to play! You son of a bitch, _give it back!_" He breathed in deeply and glared evilly at the dog, waiting for him to obey his command. However, Bayo had no intent on listening to the Assassin. So, instead, he gave a small whimper and scampered out of the room and paraded throughout the fortress with his master's red bolt of cloth. The man huffed in irritation before bolting after the hound, eager to have his precious sash back.

* * *

"That man," Maria breathed, "looked so familiar, Hildegard. I don't know where I've seen those eyes before, but I _know _I've seen them. I'm not one to forget a face, Hilde."

Hildegard only smiled and tucked the blankets around Maria in a motherly fashion. They were both laying in the injured woman's bed in deep conversation. That is, it _was _a conversation mainly about where Maria was and how she'd gotten there, but the woman paid Hildegard no mind. She was too indulged in her own thoughts to listen to her friend.

_Malik..._

_Why were those eyes so familiar?_

"They're just brown eyes, Maria- just like my eyes. Maybe you're just tired?"

Maria sighed and gave a small shrug with her shoulders. "Maybe," she whispered as she pulled the covers up to her chin. "So, what were you saying, Hildegard?"

"You mean to say 'what have you been saying for the past half hour'?" she snorted. "I was _trying _to tell you where you are and who else is here, you deaf bat."

Maria scrunched her face up and closed her eyes. "Please repeat what you have said then. My apologies for being distracted, Hildegard."

"Yeah, your apologies," she mumbled. "I'll be brief. As I was saying before you went into la-la land, you were found at Acre-"

"Acre..." Maria whispered.

"-injured and in need of healing. So, you were taken out of Acre and brought to Masyaf."  
"Masyaf..."

"You've been here for over a week now, and are still recovering. As we've both witnessed in the corridor, your legs are still quite weak, especially that thigh of yours."

Maria nodded in understanding and blew out of her mouth. "What was I doing in Acre, Hildegard? I... I can't remember."

She wrapped an arm around her friend before replying. "I don't know, Maria. I wasn't the one that rescued you. I was hoping that you'd be able to tell me what went on in Acre. I only bandaged your wounds."

"Then who found me?" she muttered. She rested her head on her friend's shoulder and curled the blankets around her body.

The blonde woman bit her lip. Malik had told her not to tell Maria of her current circumstances, but sooner or later, she had to know. But then again, maybe it was meant to be told later...

"A man I recently met." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth. She only prayed to the Lord that Maria would not press the issue further.

But of course, Maria Thorpe was not satisfied with an answer unless it was thorough and absolute. Frowning, she questioned, "What man?"

"A manly man."

"_Hilde._"

"He..." She tried to think of what to say. Maria wanted a frank and straight-forward answer from her, she knew that. So, Hildegard decided to give her friend Hell and be passive for the time being. "Do you remember when you woke up and took a little walk through the corridor?"

"How does this relate-"

"Just answer the question, love."

Maria sighed a 'yes'.

"Good, so your memory isn't failing you completely. Do you... do you happen to recall anything significant about that night?"

"I almost fell flat on my face and was mere inches from breaking my nose."

Hildegard laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "Interesting. Do you know why you almost fell?"

"Because I am a foolish woman and I tripped."

"Do you remember how you _didn't _fall?"

"I..." she paused and furrowed her eyebrows together. "Well, there was... a person, I'm pretty sure. He prevented me from smashing my head and took me in his arms, if for a brief moment." There was a short moment of silence before Maria chuckled and waved her hand in the air. "Listen to me, I sound like a romantic nothing."

"What of this man, Maria? Do tell."

"He was tall. And he wore white. And he was very handsome, yet there was a certain dangerous aura about him that clearly said, 'piss me off, and I will kill you'. It was a bit arousing, I suppose. It sort of makes a woman curious to know if that type of man would be gentle with them and not treat them the same way as others."

"Are you fantasizing, Maria?"

"No, I'm just answering your question- something that _you_ have difficulty with," she scoffed. "Anyways, continuing. He had these... eyes- not like Malik's. No, Malik's were a deep, dark brown. But beyond the color was emotion, which is the same for both of them. This man, though, had hazel eyes; brown and green. The green was almost golden, but not quite. They were weary and suspicious at first, but once he saw me, they softened and so much was told through those eyes. Is that... possible? That a person's eyes can tell the story of their life?"

Hildegard shrugged and withdrew her arm from Maria. "He was attractive, then?"

"Immensely so."

"He was... arousing?"

"Unbelievably- as if he'd seen me without a stitch of clothing on before, and likewise for me."

Hildegard secretly smiled. She knew that a certain man would personally maim her if he ever found out that she had been toying with Maria's head, but this was just too _delicious! _Maria hardly ever spoke of Altair in such an inappropriate way before, and Hildegard was in the mood for this sort of talk.

"Was he a sex animal?"

"I don't think he'd be the type to raid a brothel, if that's what you mean. He seems the kind of man that would be passionate to a woman and give her what she wanted, as well as fulfilling his own desires."

"So, you're saying he'd be rough in bed?"

Maria rolled her shoulders and shrugged the sheets off of her. "Maybe, I don't know. Why are you asking me these things, Hildegard?"

"My beautiful Maria," Hildegard sweetly chanted, "I have been deprived of my gossip mate for almost a month now. Surely it's appropriate that we speak of such things?"

"We were only separated because you left," Maria grumbled.

"Oh, don't be so sour. You're destroying the mood. So, what else was he like?"

"We're still speaking of this man, Hildegard?"

"Yes! Tell me more about him."

She whined, but gave in. "He had a full mouth, whereas I have these two scrawny, flappy, thin things called lips."

"Describe these lips of his, darling."

"Lay off the name-calling, rat. Well, they were full, like I've said. He had stubble, but it wasn't a skunk infesting his face like that man that always bought peaches back at London on Thursdays. I think he had something on the right side of his mouth, though I can't really remember."

"Do you think those lips are capable of loving?"

"I think those lips are capable of smirking and giving arrogant little sneers. But," she whispered, "I think... if he really loved the person, they'd be able to love someone."

Hildegard's small, impish smile only grew to a point where it was almost audible in her voice. "So you are saying he'd be good at capturing a woman's lips with his own?"

"I-I said no such thing!" she stammered. She could feel her cheeks begin to burn, and she wanted to push Hildegard off the bed. But she wasn't that cruel to her friend. Most of the time.

"Well, then speak, woman."

"I... I mean, well, if that woman wanted to put herself in danger of that type of man and remain still enough for him to tame her-"

"_Ooh! Tame her! _I like how you speak, Maria!" Hildegard lightly elbowed her friend and laughed when Maria pouted and blushed. The black-haired woman cursed the fact that since it was only mid-afternoon, the spreading redness of her embarrassed state was clearly visible to Hildegard.

"_A-ny-ways._ Those lips of his have probably traveled the contours of a woman's body already. Why are you even making me think of his mouth on my anatomy?"

"Oh, is that what I'm making you imagine? My apologies, Maria." '_Don't pretend you wouldn't want it.'_

Maria snorted and slowly crossed her arms over her chest. That only made Hildegard giggle again, and she _really _wanted to sew the woman's mouth shut.

"But, tell me about it, Maria! Tell me how you think of that man atop yourself, both of your bodies exposed to one another, his hands either cupping your femininity or traveling up your thighs to a most restricted region. Tell me how his lips would touch yours, how he'd slowly part your mouth and slip his tongue in. Tell me how he'd pleasure you by suckling on your feminine curves as a babe would do, and how his fingers would part skin to find a hidden, sensitive nerve that would have moans escape your lips and betray your aroused demeanor."

"H-Hildegard! Those are _highly _words from the Devil!" She brought the blankets back over herself to cover her face. Normally, in front of others, she wouldn't have been so flustered. If anyone else besides Hildegard had said what that cursed woman had just told her, she would have either walked away, or punched them and walked away. But it was always Hildegard that brought out the girly and immature side of her.

"Speak, Maria, of how he'd moan and gasp from hearing your lustful melodies. Of how his throbbing-"

"_BLOODY MURDER!"_ Maria yelped as she quickly rolled and launched herself from the bed. She had hoped that her legs would be strong enough to support her, but her hopes were diminished when she hit the floor, belly first, with a loud _smack!_

She groaned and slowly flopped onto her back and raised her head. What she saw didn't please her all too much.

There was Hildegard, sitting on the side of her bed, kicking her legs out like a child, with a small grin on her beautiful face. "Oh, my," the blonde woman sighed. "That'll be another two weeks in the bed for you, miss."

Maria groaned and let her face fall back onto the floor. "Mmmf..."

"Pah, Maria dear, do enunciate, no one can hope to hear you if you're mumbling into the floor."

"I... said..." she growled as she glared frightfully and coldly at Hildegard, "I'm taking a walk."

Hildegard _would _have been unnerved, but this was Maria hissing at her. Often times, she compared the way Maria's face shriveled up and how her eyes would get all wrinkly to a wet cat. Course, she never told Maria of this to her face. Instead, she and Damiel shared that comical quip with each other. Turned out the boy thought the same exact thing.

"And, just tell me, where are you walking to?"

"I don't know!" she spat. "I have to walk _this,_" she motioned to her red cheeks, "off. Now, if you'll excuse me- _oof!_" She had attempted to lift herself off the floor to have some form of dignity, but her arms wobbled and flew from underneath herself. Once again, her face was planted firmly into the stone floor.

"Hildegard," she whimpered. "Help me up."

Hildegard sighed, "If I must," and helped her friend off of the floor.

Maria's legs shook and for the most part, she had to lean on Hildegard. The woman had her arms wrapped securely around her injured friend's waist. "Now what, genius," Hildegard sneered.

"The door... need to walk..."

Hildegard nodded and led her friend out her door and throughout the fortress.

'_If Malik sees me, he'll butcher me alive and make me eat kibbeh for the rest of my days,'_ Hildegard thought bitterly. She hoped with all her heart that she wouldn't pass by any Assassin's. The last thing she needed was a nosy novice poking around her business and wondering why Hildegard was escorting an unfamiliar woman throughout their walls.

And she prayed that Altair wouldn't round the corner at any given time and pay them a surprise visit. Maria'd probably faint. Again.

"You know, maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Hildegard sheepishly commented after several minutes of hearing Maria grunt in pain. "I mean, your body isn't exactly in the best condition ever, and who knows when you'll just fall?"

"That's... that's why..." she gritted her teeth as her muscles protested from a mere stroll. "That's why... you're here... to catch me..."

"Right, right... Maria, I'm serious. Maybe we should go back?"

"_No._ I... I have to walk. I'll be damned if... if I can't... move... Sick of that bed..."

Hildegard sighed and rolled her eyes. '_Benjamin, if only you could see her right now. I know she'd listen to you, but no, no one ever listens to Hildegard anymore. God dammit.'_

They ventured on, and, as if God was smiling down upon Hildegard, they did not meet any Assassin's so far. '_Training must still be in session,' _she thought cheerfully. '_Good.'_

But that didn't guarantee that the Raincloud would make his dramatic appearance of sulking toward them and demanding what had possessed Hildegard to allow Maria out of her room. '_Well, he can just go dump a load of kibbeh for all I care.'_

Once or twice, Maria almost tripped, but Hildegard had remained faithful and had stopped her from crashing down on the hard stone floors. She could see that Maria was in pain, but the woman was persistent, and stubborn. Why Hildegard had to choose her as her best friend, she had no idea. Must have been the weather that day.

"Does that... does that lead outside?" Maria panted. She nodded toward a pair of open double-doors.

"Yes," Hildegard smiled, "it overlooks the courtyard. Come, we will get some fresh air." With that, she led the woman through the double doors. The two usual guards were posted at the top of the staircases on either side of the entrance to the fortress, their eyes set on the training novices in the ring. They didn't seem to notice Maria and Hildegard, or, if they did, they paid them no mind. After all, Hildegard had befriended many of the Brothers at Masyaf, especially the novices.

They stood for a moment, surveying the novices hard at work, trying to better themselves and raise their status amongst their own. Maria was scoffing, muttering to herself how that novice held his sword like a butter knife or how that idiot down there had a stiff swing with his blade.

"The air is good," Maria stated, "but not the fighting. Jesus and Mary, who's in charge of these men?"

Hildegard gave her a wide, forced smile before shrugging. "I don't know."

Maria sniffed and harshly whispered, "Some of them have potential- no, _all _of them have potential. But they aren't being disciplined enough to-" She stopped herself when she heard shouting coming from behind her back in the fortress. She and Hildegard both glanced at each other before staring back into the doorway they had come from.

"What in Christ's name?" the two women wondered aloud.

* * *

"_Bayo! _You _sharmuta! GET BACK HERE!"_

Bayo happily raced throughout the fortress, his master running after him. Though his master was a trained and agile Assassin, the power of four legs was much greater than the power of two.

The dog leapt over tables and scurried past scholars busy burying their noses in texts. He could hear his master's shouts in the distance.

"_Khara, khara! You KHARA!"_

Bayo didn't know what he was saying to him, nor did he care. What he did care about was that he had the red cloth securely in his mouth and was running as a vagabond.

However, he skidded to a halt as a familiar scent wafted its way into his nose. He sniffed the air not once, not twice, but thrice. He...

He _knew _that smell...

Whimpering, he turned around just in time to see his master round a corner and charge straight at him. Though his black hood was up, the dog could tell that the man was furious and upset with him.

Bayo growled and ran out of the hallway and to the master's study. He bounded down the stairs, fully aware that the man was mere seconds behind him. Growling, he sprinted out of the foyer and out of the double-doors that led to the courtyard.

* * *

Maria barely had enough time to register what was happening. One moment, there was shouting coming from inside the fortress. The next, the novices had exited the ring and had each barreled into the doors, all worried and on full alert. Then, a furry, familiar companion came running through the crowd of men, barked, and-

"_Stop the dog!"_

_"Restrain him!"_

_"No, Bayo! Be a good boy!"_

The Assassin's were in heavy pursuit of the canine now, chasing him through the courtyard. They had tried cornering him, but the dog easily scrambled through their legs, still proudly biting onto the red sash.

To add to the chaos, a startled Malik came rushing out into the courtyard. "He has taken it!" he hollered.

Hildegard quickly hurried over to him, just in time to avoid a dog on the loose and a mob chasing the poor thing. "Who's taken what?" she yelled over the chaos occurring.

"The dog!" Malik yelled back. "The dog has taken the Master's belt! His sign of honor! The symbol of blood and respect! Of duty and loyalty-"

"I get it, I get it!"

"The Master is not going to be- Altair!" Malik called as Altair himself entered the courtyard, his eyes blazing underneath his hood. "The dog-"

"_Will. Be. Disposed. Of."_ He searched frantically for Bayo, but it proved little challenge. After all, twenty or so Assassin's chasing one hound wasn't a sight to miss.

"All this ruckus and buckus that one dog can cause," Malik moaned to himself. "_Allah! _You'd think one of them would be able to catch him!" He and Hildegard turned their heads to the right as another mob came dashing up the stairs to stop the hound, and then they turned their heads to the left to watch another wave of Assassin's give chase to the animal.

Hildegard blinked and slowly shook her head. "They should stop chasing him and let him calm down."

"No, really- _look out!_" In a split second, Malik grabbed Hildegard and pulled her out of harm's way as Bayo ran up the stairs with Assassin's in tow. However, coming up from the opposite staircase was yet _another _group of Assassin's. There was bound to be a collision.

Hildegard closed her eyes, whimpering about not being able to watch. Malik stared in horror, while Altair glared, a vicious smirk on his lips as the dog was about to meet his fate.

But, the collision never happened.

"_STOP!"_

The command halted both the dog and Assassin's in their tracks. A few of them stumbled backwards on the stairs, while the others stood rooted to the spot, searching for the source of the order.

There, in the middle of the would-be chaos, was a black-haired woman, her grey eyes burning into Bayo's brown, wild ones.

The Master of Assassin's breath was taken away by her sight.

The dog stared at the woman and blinked at her. She towered over him, mercilessly glaring at him.

"_Sit."_

Bayo obeyed. His bottom immediately plopped onto the floor. Even some of the novices were caught in mid-squat as they, too, listened to her order. Thankfully, some of the older and more experienced Assassin's were present and had quickly scolded the boys and had them stand upright.

"_Release._"

Bayo fumbled the cloth in his mouth with his tongue, then spat it out onto the ground. He nudged it with his nose toward Maria's feet, avoiding her gaze this time. He held his head low out of shame and gave a small whine.

"_Look at me."_

Bayo blinked and raised his head just enough to meet her eyes. Had he been a bad boy? The man with the one arm had tied a cloth identical to the one he had just given up around his neck... had he made a mistake and accidentally stole the Master's cloth instead of his own?

Maria did not smile, nor did her eyes soften. She slowly knelt to the ground and picked the slobbery and dusty sash up. She gave it a brief look-over before turning her attention back to the hound. He was looking at her with the most hurtful expression she had ever seen.

She trained this dog. She raised this dog. She _knew _this dog. She knew that Bayo would never look so ashamed of himself from doing something wrong. He was not the type of dog that would pity himself. He was a soldier and would accept his punishment.

She'd never seen him look at her like this, not in all the years she'd had him.

Maria placed her hand under the dog's chin and brought his face closer to hers. She searched his eyes, knowing that he desperately wanted to tell her something without words. She wished that he had the ability to talk; that he'd be able to declare his innocence.

The Assassin's watched in awe, some of them even murmuring to each other. Malik gawked just as much as the novices, and Hildegard had finally opened her eyes to witness the scene unfolding before the entire Assassin Order.

Altair, however, had pulled his hood down and was too busy staring admirably at his strong, beautiful battle maiden to fully comprehend what was happening.

Maria stroked Bayo's lip with her thumb. Slowly, her rock-hard expression softened and the corners of her mouth turned upward in a gentle smile. "You didn't know, I understand," she mumbled. Bayo nudged her cheek with his nose, whining as he did so.

Permission to slobber my Mistress?

Maria chuckled and scratched the dog behind his ear. His foot immediately began thumping against the ground.

A sigh was heard from the Assassin's as the tension was at last broken.

Maria stood, cloth in hand, and turned to her spectators. She glanced at the red fabric in her hands, then at the men. They shook their heads and motioned toward the Grandmaster.

Maria turned once more, and once she saw the man they indicated, her face drained of color and her smile was no longer. She was highly aware that countless eyes were on her back, waiting for her to make a decision. Bayo stood loyally by her side, glancing back and forth between her and Altair. It was as if the dog knew their story as well.

Clearing her throat, she slowly made one foot move in front of the other as she approached him. Once she was a foot in front of him, she held the cloth out for him.

"I believe this is yours," she rasped out.

The cold and unforgiving look in her eyes had his insides clench and twist. He, too, cleared his throat, then nodded. "Yes, it is." He also felt sweat begin to trickle down his neck. His Brothers were watching him, waiting for him to make some sort of action. He never told them about Maria, and the novices that had assisted him when he had brought her from Acre had sworn themselves to secrecy.

She stood there, and he stood there, for a few moments, drinking in each others' eyes. He looked down at the cloth stupidly, then back up to her. Slowly, he took it out of her grasp, never letting his eyes wander from her own. He let his fingers glide smoothly against hers. He could have sworn that he felt her tremble.

He licked his lips. "My thanks, woman. I will discuss your duties to Masyaf with you in due time." Simple, unsuggestive, and to the point.

She, however, did not take his statements very well. Her eyes flared with anger and offense from his words.

Maria Thorpe was not a woman to take a man's garbage and shuffle it around in her hands. She did not tolerate insults, nor did she tolerate behavior from _him. _Balling her hands into fists, she raised her chin and haughtily replied, "Oh, thank you. I never knew that the Master of Assassin's hired little boys to deal with their affairs. Good to know."

The spectators gasped and gawked from her arrogance. A few even tried to charge at her, but were held back by their Brothers.

Malik groaned and slapped his forehead. "All my hard work of keeping it a secret," he grumbled.

If possible, Altair thought her eyes burned through his even more. He felt as if someone was sticking a hot rod through his skull and branding him alive. He opened his mouth to whisper an apology, but before he could, she had pushed her way past him and back into the fortress, no longer limping or hobbling around.

Hildegard gave a shortly-lived, worried glance at Malik before scampering after her friend. Bayo stood and loyally trotted after his Mistress.

Once the three of them had left the courtyard, it remained still and silent. All of the Assassin's had their eyes on the Master. Some were staring at him questioningly, others looked hurt and betrayed. The three novices, however, gave him small, understanding grins as reassurance.

Altair met the eyes of his Brothers, but had no words to say to them. What _could _he say to them? Words and phrases refused to form in his mouth. Thankfully, though, Malik had stepped in to save the day. Bless the man.

"Alright, the show is over, and there is still sunlight. Get back to your trainings, Brothers."

Slowly, they shuffled back to the training ring.

One man, though, stood for a moment longer than the others, a satisfied and disgusting smirk present underneath his grey hood. Altair's gaze crossed over to him, and the Master narrowed his eyes at the man. The novice threw him a cocky sneer before following his Brothers to the ring.

"Malik?" Altair whispered.

"Yes, Brother?" Malik sighed.

"I am in the depths of despair."

"What poem did you get _that _one out of?"

* * *

**NOTE: John of Brienne is NOT the same John that is mentioned in previous chapters. They're two different people. Just to clarify that.

Aaaand, little FF, Fun Fact. A couple of weeks ago in the cafeteria, I was eating my pasta and I overheard a group of boys from the table behind me. They were talking about Assassin's Creed, so, naturally, I was interested, so I joined in the conversation. They were discussing a fanfiction that they read online, and hey, I'm interested in ANY canon Assassin's Creed fanfic.

ANYWAYS. So, I asked them to write down the name and author for me on a slip of paper so that I could look it up in my free time. So, they write it down, I pocket it, and I return to class. Later that night in my dorm, I take out the paper and I read it.

Lo and Behold:

Loving Hate by Era-Age

Translations:

_Yalla_ = come on/hurry up/let's go

_chateau = _castle (whenever I hear that word, I think of Castle Crashers XD)

_Maestro de Asesinos = _Master of Assassins

_ahbal_ = idiot/stupid

_sharmuta =_ prostitute

_khara = _shit

Also, I'm quite proud of myself with writing the Christopher and Malcolm scene. I think I revealed a small corner of what's to come without fully announcing it. I think this is my best chapter yet, but I don't know yet.

And heh, adding this in here too because I forgot about it T.T I know, shame on me, slap slap. So, one of my readers drew a concept art of Damiel, and okay, I love it. I'm not just saying that because you drew something from my story, I'm saying it because I LOVE IT. :) You did a fabulous job, and thank you, Koriiko.

Here's the link (remove spaces):

h t t p : / / koriiko-chan. deviantart. com / art / Damiel-Concept- 180589293


	17. Chapter 13, Part 1

Maria stood near the small nightstand in her room, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and her back to the door. She bit the inside of her mouth as she stared long and hard at the doily and candles on the nightstand.

She spared a quick glance to her bed, where Bayo was elegantly relaxing with a paw crossed neatly over the other. He was watching his mistress, and she knew that he was confused as to why she was so tense.

The sound of footsteps had the hair on the back of Maria's neck rise in anger. She dug her nails harshly into the fabric of her sleeve, counting the number of thumps the feet made. They came to a gentle stop as the person stood in the doorway, her own posture mimicking Maria's. After all, Hildegard was just as equally adamant in her beliefs as Maria was.

Maria counted ten seconds before Hildegard sighed irately at her. _'How dare SHE be so distraught when I'M the one that has a bastard of a man living under the same roof as myself!'_

"I cannot believe the gall you have, Hildegard," Maria hissed between clenched teeth. She was partially aware that her nails had torn through her sleeve.

"My apologies," Hildegard shrugged casually. She, too, was in no mood for Maria's nonsense. She loved her to death, yet sometimes she wished to clobber her over the head with a fish and kick her off a cliff. Perhaps the fall would knock some sense into her...

"What kind of woman do you take me for, Hildegard?"

"A strong woman, Maria. Apparently I was mistaken," the blonde muttered easily under her breath. She was treating the situation as a petty and simple matter, as if it was an everyday argument she'd had for her entire life. Oh, and she knew that Maria did not appreciate being taken in so lightly.

And of course, it proved little challenge to sense Hildegard's blunt and brief behavior. Maria drew blood from the inside of her mouth. The metal taste helped the problem standing in her room the least. "Do you honestly think I was ready for him?"

"Oh yes, I did," Hildegard chirped leisurely. "I thought you'd be the type of woman who'd put the past behind-"

"And all those sensual things you made me think of..!" Maria closed her eyes and battled the internal rage inside of herself. How could Hildegard not understand? Was it _necessary_ for her to be annoyed and think her a child? Why was she content to not see her perspective of the matter?

"Oh, did you enjoy them?" Hildegard smirked and raised an eyebrow in challenge. This, however, had Maria face Hildegard with a storm of thunder in her grey eyes.

_'You conniving, arrogant and heartless villain!'_ Maria thought. She wanted to strangle the blonde until that sneer was off her face and that hip that she was jutting out was snapped in two.

Hildegard was unmoved by her killer glare, her clenched fists, and her labored breathing.

"No, I did NOT!" Maria screamed at her. She shook her head in disapproval at Hildegard, obviously fighting back the urge to tackle her all the way back to London. "How _dare _you try to take control of my life!"

"You didn't exactly have a firm grasp on it to begin with, Maria. Your threats are as empty as your pretending." Hildegard waved her hand at her friend in an almost dismissing air. She knew Maria's temper was rising with each and every passing second. Knew, but didn't care.

_"Pretending?" _Maria narrowed her eyes and slowly turned back to her nightstand. Her dominant arm shook in fury, and, in one swift movement, she swiped the doily and candles off the nightstand and onto the floor. She felt a throbbing in her arm, but her raging emotions and adrenaline subsided the pain temporarily.

Bayo's head immediately turned in her direction from hearing the candles hit the floor with dull thuds. It was fascinating, and also terrifying, to see his mistress parade around the room and destroy the furniture.

Hell, he'd only seen Maria this upset with Robert and that annoying boy with the spear.

"You think I am _pretending?" _Maria marched over to her dresser and knocked off the few items residing on it.

"Please, control your emotions, Maria. You'll make too much noise and the Assassin's will wonder what's happening." Hildegard eyes widened in shock, then returned to normal as the other woman tore the curtains off their rods and began ripping them to shreds.

"_Control my emotions, Hildegard," _she mimicked in a snide and childish voice. "_Control my emotions, control my life, control control control!"_

"Maria," Hildegard cautiously approached her friend, "what are you-"

"I AM TIRED OF CONTROLLING!"

Her tantrum came to an abrupt stop. She threw the ruined curtains on the floor and stormed over to her bed, her fists raised. She pounded her soft mattress in and gave a small shout of frustration. Luckily for Bayo, he had leapt off the bed just in time to avoid the stampeding woman's wrath.

Hildegard did nothing to stop Maria's meltdown. If anything, she'd be happy to watch her deplete the fuel and energy that had festered inside of her for a year and longer.

Finally, after long minutes of taking her sudden flare of desperation out on her bed, she breathed out in defeat and collapsed onto her messy sheets.

"Oh, Hildegard, what am I going to do?" she whispered into the blankets. She was hesitant, but soon Hildegard sighed and pushed her way toward her friend. She sat down on the foot of the bed and rubbed Maria's back comfortingly. She could feel and hear Maria's breath hitch in her throat as she dryly sobbed.

"I've three words for you: be a woman."

"I'm_ trying!" _she shrieked in distress. She raised her head to look her friend dead in the eyes. "I must have looked like such a fool... in front of the entire Order, as well!"

Hildegard smiled and rolled her eyes in thought. She brought the distraught female closer to herself and rested her head against her shoulder. Maria allowed her to do so, albeit reluctantly. "I thought you looked like his alpha, truth be told."

"What-in-God's-name-is-that-supposed-to-mean?" Maria blurted.

"It means he seemed rather flustered to see you. Ironic, really. In front of him, you're an untouchable goddess, yet when he isn't watching, you break," Hildegard mused.

"HAH!" Maria scoffed into her friend's dress. "He was probably so shaken to see me because he was just rocking a bed to and fro with some other whore."

"Whore?" Hildegard repeated. Her eyes widened and she gave Maria a rather cheeky grin. "I think you're the only woman he'd bed with."

Maria snorted again in disbelief before replying, "He'd couple and impregnate countless women as he saw fit to! I was just another catch in the ocean for him!"

"I doubt he'd survive that," Hildegard mumbled.

"I am nothing to that man, Hildegard- no, that _boy!_ That pig, animal-like, woman crushing _boy!_ Hildegard, did you not see the cold in his eyes? Or, or or the hate?"

"You're confusing hurt and longing, darling."

_"Hurt? Longing?_ Yes, he longs to hurt me! Me: his precious yet worthless prostitute!"

"Maria, you aren't a _sharmuta_ to him. I think he loves you."

"He loves being in between my legs is what he loves! That damn man!"

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Maria," Hildegard sighed. "He cares about you."

"_Pff!_ He only cares if my breasts and vagina are still pleasing! Unsex me, vanquish my femininity, and see how much he cares!"

"Then why would he nurse you back to health? Why would he sit by your bedside and watch over you? Why would he himself go through all that trouble if you were only for pleasure?"

"I...I don't-"

"Yes, you don't know, so do not assume, Maria. Nothing good can come from jumping to conclusions, love."

"You don't know if he truly cares for me, either, Hildegard."

"I'm merely hypothesizing based off of what I've seen, Maria. Have you seen him stress and worry himself over your injuries? No, you have not, because you were sleeping your pretty head away."

"Then what you've seen is him pretending to have a heart in that cold and unforgiving chest."

"Unforgiving? You call him that, yet you yourself wish to never speak with him again."

"I will not speak to a man who will not listen to me, Hildegard."

"You mean you will not speak to a man who loves you."

"Don't twist my words to your liking, you fiend!" Maria pushed herself away from Hildegard and sat on the far side of the bed away from the woman. "If he loves me, as you claim the bastard does, why did he not come in this room and speak with me?"

"Why would he waste his breath on a woman who won't listen?"

"Enough, Hildegard! Why are you so set on defending him anyway?"

"Why are you so set on being a blind bitch?"

"Oh, is _that_ the new insult I'm being called? A 'bitch'?"

"Answer the question." Hildegard rubbed her forehead. It always came down to Maria defending herself and refusing to see another's perspective. Even when they were still in London, she'd make Altair out to be a ruthless and heartless man that couldn't care less about her welfare. Well, judging by Hildegard's experience with the man, he was ruthless _sometimes._ But, by God, the man's heart was too big for his own good.

Why was speaking to her best friend such a hazard to her health?

"Because he HURT me, Hildegard." Maria stood from the bed and walked over to her dresser, her shoulders slumped. "I gave everything up to be in the Crusades: my title, my wealth, my home. Then when I finally find someone who'd been led astray, the same as I, I give him everything I had left," she whispered.

"But even that wasn't enough," Maria continued, "to get what I wanted... for once in my life. Instead, I birthed a dead baby boy _alone._ I never felt more alone and pointless in my entire life. I wanted to die- I_ begged _God to let me die. I loved that Assassin; _my_ Assassin. More than anything. And he..." She closed her eyes and lowered her head in defeat. "He never came looking for me. He left me. He let me go.

"I thought... I thought I meant something to him. I believed that night on the tower held a significance for him that nothing else had. I felt... safe. I felt like I belonged in his arms and that he belonged in mine. I don't recall anyone who had such a hold on me that he does. I've never burned or yearned for a person so much in all my life."

Hildegard bit her lip and idly toyed with the covers in between her fingers. She knew there was hurt beneath her friend's pride. She knew the story between Altair and her, there was no doubt about it. But she also knew Altair's own reasons for abandoning the woman he loves.

"You say that you are lonely, Maria," she began, "and that he destroyed you. But how can you not see that he's aware of this, and he wants to fix it? Maria, you mean the world and more to that man. I don't think I'd travel all the way here if I didn't believe that."

"So that's why you left?"

"Yes," Hildegard chuckled, "are you angry?"

"I should be," Maria dryly mused. "But, I'm too preoccupied with him to give it much thought."

"Maria," Hildegard made her way over to her friend and put a warm arm around her shoulders. Maria leaned into the gesture. "I don't think I've ever seen a person show so much love for another just by looking at them. You almost _died,_ Maria. And he was terrified and shaken beyond belief. If he had feathers, he'd have looked like a chicken with epilepsy." Both of the corners of their mouths turned upward from the image in their minds. "He didn't allow anyone to let you out of his sight. Malik has had to practically force the man to bed the past week or so.

"He really does want to speak to you and repair the bond you two shared. Don't you want that?"

"You say that he's been distraught and worried over me, and I believe you. But I'm going to need my own proof to believe _myself_ and forgive him, Hildegard. As of now, I hate the man."

Hildegard's smile disappeared. She grabbed Maria's chin in her hand and forced the woman to look her straight in the face.

"Your mouth says you loathe him," Hildegard muttered. "Yet your eyes speak differently." Hildegard did not wait for her to reply. Instead, she briskly turned and walked out of the door, quietly shutting it behind her.

Maria trembled and balled a hand into a fist. Maria was naturally stubborn- no man nor force of nature could change that. And she was stubborn in admitting to herself that Hildegard was _right_. She knew that deep down, she felt immense and almost foreign feelings for the Assassin.

_Love... was that what it was called?_

She blew out of her mouth irately and closed her eyes. She never thought that _she, the woman who had run away from home, disguising herself as a man to escape the ridiculous norm for females such as she, _would fall in love's merciless clutches. It had a fine grasp on her, twisting her heart this way and that from even hearing his name.

_Al-tai-ir_. Three simple syllables that killed her whenever she said them. Ironic, how Assassin's use weapons other than blades.

But she was not a target of his- well, not a _threatening_ target, that was. Should she be feeling cornered and trapped? That's exactly what she felt at the moment. She was alone in her room, save for Bayo, and still, she felt those countless eyes on her figure. She'd never seen so many Assassin's at once in her life. The only Assassin she had ever _really_ been acquainted with- besides her own- was Altair. Though, when she was his ally on Cyprus, one look from him had her heart hammer in her chest out of fury, and also out of uncertainty toward his actions. Assassin's weren't men to trifle with, that was certain.

Maria leaned back against her dresser and gazed at Bayo in thought. He tilted his head to the side and flicked his ears.

She couldn't stay in this fortress for long. Its walls felt too confining and insecure, even if there was an impressive amount of guards on duty. One look outside her window proved that.  
But she couldn't risk another encounter with _him._ She would have been able to partially forget about him ever entering her life _if she hadn't ever seen him again_. But no, the damned man was known for striking unexpectedly, and strike unexpectedly he did. She cursed herself internally for him having such an effect on her person. He was just one man- one man was all it took to have her walls come crashing down and world spin in a daze. She'd known men better than women her entire life.

And she could prove it.

There were the rich nobles back at England who would pry and pick at each other until they learned what happened to _their _estate or what _he _was going to do- or, oh dear, they're having a get-together and I wasn't invited? They'd sit leisurely in chairs, legs crossed over the other, chins upturned arrogantly as they discussed the most frivolous of issues. _Sickening_.

Then there were the scholars. Fascinating creatures. They wouldn't care if you told them of the get-together's that the rich nobles would have with one another. Their eyes would only light up at a mentioning of a new piece of information, or that a new philosophy has been born by this new such and such philosopher. And such and such philosopher would just bask at how the scholars would politely question, trying to mask their indifference and disbelief at their idea, to compare their own beliefs to theirs. Oh, and then came the annoyed and 'I can't believe you just asked me that' look that they'd give you if you questioned them on simple matters. _Irritating_.

The soldiers, ahh, the soldiers. Brainless, some of them. Haughty, most of them. Terrified, all of them. The only soldiers worth knowing were the ones who were modest about their fear of death. Maria recalled while still a soldier in the Crusader army how many of the men she fought with would exchange jests with one another on Saladin's army. Their mindless quips would quickly be silenced once a sword gutted them. _Fools_.

And then there were the Assassin's. She wasn't certain how to categorize them, if they could even be categorized. Very distant, very quiet and secretive, but for the other person's own good. Some of them were complete asses (as she knew one very, _very _well), some of them were passionate and caring (as she knew from her childhood very, _very _well). _Mysteries_.

She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her eyebrows together. She wouldn't stay amongst the mysteries. She didn't belong in such a place- would _never _belong amongst their ranks. She was an outsider, and she'd forever remain one. This fortress was meant for men who dedicated themselves to a creed that restricted them from the darkness of evil, and a belief that was beyond the imagination.

How could she ever stay when she herself did not know what she believed in?

She nodded slowly, agreeing to her own thoughts. She had to get out. She had to leave. The plan was slowly starting to form in her head, the details connecting to one another like a puzzle. A small, pleased and satisfied smile turned the corners of her lips up as she approached Bayo on the bed.

"Sorry, love," she whispered as she scratched the dog on the back of his neck. His neck jutted out, and an almost smug expression appeared on his face. His hindleg immediately started thumping up and down. "But you're not going to like what I'm about to do."

* * *

The names before him had no woman tear their souls apart. These names were solitude and full of pride, honor, and loyalty.

These names were not his.

Altair's eyes slowly swept over each plaque set into the wall. There must have been dozens of them; dozens of Assassin's that had stayed true to their cause and strengthened the Brotherhood. They destroyed Templar's, learned of their plans, helped the people of corrupted lands- all _without _a woman to worry about. Was he a failure to his late Brothers?

The mighty eagle of Masyaf closed his eyes and deeply exhaled. Would his memory be plaqued and remembered for ages to come? Or would his fellow kin think him weak for straying from Assassin custom and loving a woman?

He opened his eyes and slowly paced the room. 'Memory Hall' was what it was called. It was underground, separate from the vault that contained the Piece of Eden and isolated from the rest of the fortress. It was a sanctuary for the most successful Assassin's to rest in peace- the peace they sacrificed themselves for. They were the most notable of their time, the favorites of their current Master.

Would Al Mualim have put Altair's own name in this rectangular, eerily lit room? He doubted it. The man's soul and heart was already corrupted with greed due to the artifact's hold on his body. One betrayal leads to another, and leaving Altair's story to die with his body is just another act of sin.

Engraved. Etched. Words. Could words describe a person? Would the next generation of Assassin's wander into this hall and admire the men who were preserved here? Would they _understand _these men? No, they wouldn't. They'd be mesmerized by the deeds they carried out and not once think about their personal lives. They were flesh and blood. They were capable of harboring emotion. The descriptions engraved beneath their names on the plaques only listed what was appropriate for an Assassin.

But what about what was appropriate for man? A man who showed loyalty, dedication, commitment- that was what an Assassin was. It was not a man able to take another man's life away. It was a man who wanted a better world for the people. The people showed no gratitude, though. Assassin's acted to decrease the amount of tyranny, but also to increase the amount of hatred toward their clan.

Was that just? Was that appropriate and fitting for men who sacrificed so much for what they believed in?

He knew it was not. He knew that these names listed had personal opinions. These men probably had lovers, same as he, and had to turn away from them, which was unlike him. His name would not be etched into the wall without Maria's. He'd be damned if he died without Maria's name by his.

Altair grimaced as he read Al Mualim's plaque. Though he was a traitor to their Brotherhood, he had apparently performed remarkable deeds as a Master Assassin in his younger years. A name as filthy as his did not belong on this wall. Just how many more of the other names were frauds as he was?

Altair came to the end of the hallway. His teacher's name was there, but yet his father's was not. A man who had almost killed off the Syrian sect of Assassin's was labeled as a great Assassin of his time, yet his own _father's _name was nowhere to be seen!

_'My sire deserves his name to be forgotten. But Al Mualim deserves such a fate as well.'_

'Father' was not an idea he was used to thinking of. He never let his mind wander over his childhood. He was taught that his father was a disgrace to the Assassin Order. He had married a whore of a European woman, impregnated her, damned his Brothers by failing mission after mission, insulted Al Mualim by not listening to his commands, and then, the most terrible act of all, he had run away.

He killed out of cold blood. He murdered innocents and enjoyed washing his hands in their blood. A man with those qualities did not belong with Assassin's. His own son damned him and loathed him. What was heartbreaking to Altair was that he never wanted a son. He had only taken his mother as his own for pleasure. Oh, and his mother...

Altair was taught that she had no pulse within her chest and that she was eager to let the Assassin's take him in when he became old enough. Rumor had it that she plucked him from her nipple while still a babe. However, those words fell on deaf ears.

His mother... a melody would slowly fill his mind as he thought of her. It was a warm, rich and gentle mumbling. It was a familiar tune, one that he'd heard before. How could a woman with such a voice be a whore, as she was labeled, and not care for a person that came from her own body?

They were both just vague shadows of his past. He remembered while in his youth, he'd sneak out of the training courtyard to find his father. He'd hoped that he'd be able to find a familiar face, one that looked like his own. But there was nothing but only so _many _hoods. Too many faces half covered, too many scowls and backs in his direction. He was the halfbreed; the mutt. Though they devoted themselves to the Creed, prejudice against Christians and Muslims was still a stubborn thorn in reality. His blood was tainted with the Devil's.

And then they died. He did not cry. He only blinked, and then nodded, and returned to his training. His father was not a man to be proud of, and his mother remained a book with blank pages. What emotion was he supposed to feel other than indifference?

Altair did not know whether or not the Old Man had merely told him lies, nor did he care. His mother and father were both dead, and their passing meant nothing to him. Part of his mind believed that his parents only had him, their abomination of a devil, to laugh at and scorn. He suffered their coupling by hearing the whispers said about him behind his back and feeling the stones thrown at him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He came down here to find strength in the men he had never known, yet understood completely. He did _not _pay a visit to Memory Hall to sulk even more.

He thought of his own deeds. They were not heroic, they were not clean, and they were not something a scholar would love to read about. He killed leaders that were led astray by false hope. To the Assassin's, he had prevented Templar's from controlling the Holy Land. To the people, he had performed a sin and should be put to death.

What were their lives like before the Apple had infected their minds? What Truth did they gain from its complex images?

He'd never know the answer to the first question, but perhaps, over time, he may come across what drove each man that he had slaughtered mad.

He felt as though he stood on the edge of failure. He had done his best to train with his novices and to offer words of wisdom and advice to his more experienced Brothers. He had even given a few of them names to silence, even though they were not of Templar origins. But there had not been significant changes to their Order- not until Hildegard-

Not until Maria arrived.

Was that what he was missing? Was the permission to love another being the key to his success? He knew it'd either make him or break him. Change was what his order needed. The Brethren needed _more _to fight for than just freedom. It was already an impressive and noble reason- peculiar to think of murderers as noble- but to fight for love? Was it such a sin?

He ran his hand across the wall as he paced back to the middle of the room. He felt the plaques scrape against his fingertips as he past each rested Brother. He closed his eyes and felt their accomplishments beat on him like a drum. Would he have the honor of being amongst these men when his time came to depart?

His feet stopped once he reached the center of the hall. He shuddered and inhaled a quivering breath before slamming his palms onto the stone wall, just below the plaque that was displayed there. He bowed his head down so that his chin touched his collar bones.

_'My Brother before me...'_

His arms trembled as he curved his fingers and dug his nails into the rough stonework, hoping to find closure.

_'Offer me your strength and wisdom.'_

He remained there for several moments before he raised his head to view the plaque. He narrowed his eyes at it and turned his head to the side in question. It was not an Arabic name- no, it was a mixture of two different cultures.

The plaque read: _Jenaro Karkafian._

Altair gave a small shake of his head and leaned in toward the wall so that the top of his head was resting on the stone. He was too preoccupied with his own agenda and checklist of accomplishments in his life to wonder why an Assassin that was not Arabic, but rather half Spanish and half Armenian, ever set foot in Masyaf.

* * *

Christopher sat, fuming, in one of the libraries of Chateau Narbonnais. He flipped back and forth through the pages of the book in front of him, occasionally glancing at the door that led to Malcolm's study. He gritted his teeth together and winced as he accidentally tore one of the sheets of paper. He sighed and placed the book on the table he sat at before pacing back over to a bookshelf. He read each of the spines, but could not find anything worthwhile or interesting.

Rather, he would have been able to find a book that piqued his interest had it not been for Malcolm's decisions as Grandmaster of the Templar's. Christopher was furious, and the man rarely let his emotions get the better of him. But this time was different. He felt betrayed and used- what did Malcolm call him? Ah, yes, he said he was the "only sensible one in the Templar Order". What was he to think of _those _words? Was Malcolm planning to use Christopher to manipulate his fellow Brother's so that they'd meet their fall?

How could Malcolm expect such a thing from him?

Christopher had killed before in his life, though, regrettably. He knew the art of the sword, yet he did not take enjoyment from seeing blood leak from a person or from knowing that their life was stolen from them because of him. He was taught from a child that violence was not the answer and that communication led to success and understanding. Wasn't Malcolm taught that as well? He had to be- why else was he chosen as the successor of Armand Bouchart? It made little to no sense to Christopher.

In fact, he didn't even _remember _voting for Malcolm as Grandmaster! Yes, he remembered the ballots, but he did not recall that Malcolm was even a possibility for their leader. Was it all planned out? Were Malcolm's strings being pulled, making him a puppet as well as his Brother's?

Now that he actually thought about it, an enormous amount of equipment, being weapons, armor, or ammunition such as arrows or throwing knives, were gained right after his 'coronation' as Grandmaster. How did they ever even acquire such a massive increase of supplies? He had a feeling the Beaumont merchants had something to do with it. Those sniveling and scheming Frenchman always were up to no good- especially the current head of their organization, Mathieu Beaumont.

Christopher sighed and cracked his knuckles. He wanted to know more of the secrets that the Templar's were keeping from him. If he was so sensible, then why did they not trust him with this information? Though, he had to admit, it angered him to no end. He wanted to know the hand that guided Malcolm to betray his own. But, to do that, he'd have to subside his resentment toward him. He breathed in, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, then stepped toward the door.

If Malcolm would pull a facade, then so would he.

Christopher gently turned the handle. There was the pawn, his master, sitting at a desk, writing letters. _To who, though?_

Christopher cleared his throat and bowed his head out of respect._ Fake respect_. "Master Malcolm, if I may?"

Malcolm's hand paused from scribbling down whatever orders he was writing to give a nod at Christopher to continue.

"I've... reconsidered what you've confided in me, sir."

This had Malcolm raise his head and slowly place his quill on the desk. He stared blankly at Christopher before raising his eyebrows in question.

"Though I do think it... rash that we are killing our Brothers, I do think that it is the best thing to do in the circumstances we face. I realize that this is war that we have stumbled upon- a war between Templar's and Assassin's that will not end unless certain sacrifices are made." Christopher swallowed the sour taste of his lies down his throat. "Earl was corrupted, and I believe that we would have been hindered by him if he still resided among the living.

"Clarence, too, is a problem that needs to be dealt with. His motives are too vague and confusing. I ask myself, 'Is he trying to support the Templar Order, or trying to satisfy his need of vengeance upon a traitor?' I do not know the answers to these questions, and that is what worries me. He yearns for attention and praise, and though it enhances one's self esteem, I wonder if he'd go to extremes just to earn a pat on the back. He's too discrete to be deemed trustworthy."

Christopher hoped his speech had convinced Malcolm that he was now seeing his perspective and that he regretted his outburst four days ago. He terribly wished that his master chose a different expression other than that blank stare, as if he was searching for truth inside of him. He wouldn't find any truth if he was looking hard enough.

Malcolm folded his hands together and placed them under his chin. He narrowed his eyes, then softened his gaze. It seemed he was having an internal argument with himself, though Christopher was not certain. The Templar Grandmaster could be a complete and total fool at times, and the lesser man only hoped that he'd choose to be oblivious and blind presently.

A small grin appeared on Malcolm's mouth, and he nodded in confirmation to his own thoughts. "My dear Christopher," he whispered, "it greatly enlightens my soul that you would finally see the truth." He stood from his desk and approached the man. He put a heavy hand on his shoulder and nodded once more. "I now know why you are part of our Order, Brother."

Christopher could feel beads of sweat form on his brow, and he prayed to the Lord that Malcolm would not notice. He gave a forced smile to his Grandmaster.

"You are with us because of your wisdom and ability to learn what is right and wrong. And for that," Malcolm let his arm fall back to his side as he took a step back, "I will happily discuss what will be done with Clarence with you."

Christopher choked back the sigh that he so wanted to give. He had not been caught by Malcolm- praise God! Malcolm was now the fool and Christopher was the patient observant that would strike at the proper time. He'd just have to play the fool so that the fool would think that he himself was the higher being.

"If it is what you wish, Master."

"It is," Malcolm breathed out as he once again settled his bottom into his chair. He motioned for Christopher to sit opposite of him. The knight hesitantly sat across from him. Malcolm narrowed his eyes and asked, "Brother, is everything alright? You seem shaken."

Christopher nodded almost too eagerly, then smoothly replied, "I still find it difficult that we have such weak members in our cause, sir. It's a terrible concept to grasp, and I only wish that it didn't exist."

Malcolm bobbed his head up and down and sighed, crossing his leg over the other. He rested his chin in his palm, as if they'd been discussing the topic for hours and he'd grown bored of it. "Yes, it is a terrible concept," he mused. "But we must deal with it once and for all. I cannot have my own men scavenging the land for their own purposes."

"Then what will be done with Clarence? Surely he will not see reason?"

"No, he will not see reason," Malcolm agreed. "I have not received word from him yet. His orders were to gather his men and distribute them in Jerusalem, Damascus, and Acre to drown the Assassin's sources in those three cities. Thus, the Assassin's at Masyaf would grow concerned, and hopefully their cursed Master would handle the issue himself. Clarence's orders were to slay the man."

Christopher gave a half-hearted chuckle at this. "And I presume that he will not listen to your commands?"

"I fear he may have other ideas," Malcolm snarled bitterly. "You see, I've taken note that his ego has been stabbed at since his failure at the wedding. He may want to comply with seeking revenge. Maria is no part of the orders that I specifically gave him. I'm afraid that he will try something to gain Maria in his clutches."

"But if Maria was to be held captive by him, then wouldn't her lover, the _Assassin_, come for her?"

"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. It'd be very compromising, though. You see, I don't want that damned Assassin to go on a bloody killing spree just to have his sweet, penis sucking bitch back. That'd destroy and demoralize Clarence's men. But if the Assassin was to only target Clarence and maybe a few of his men, then we'd be in business. Clarence would be out of the picture, but then we'd acquire his forces. I don't want that man to get any cunning ideas in his head, even if he is a Brother."

Christopher slowly inclined his head as he took in this information. "Then what of Maria? We discussed in London that she needs punishment for trading us for Assassin's."

"You are right. She does need punishment for insulting us in such a way." Malcolm pushed himself up from his chair with his arms on his desk. "Clarence will not give her that punishment. Rather, I actually want _you_, Christopher, to capture her."

Christopher blinked up at Malcolm in surprise. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he struggled for words to form in his mouth. However, Malcolm did not expect an immediate reply.

"Yes, Christopher, I believe that you are most suited for the task. She is a snake that is not easily charmed. She's proven this before while still amongst our ranks. Though, it is not impossible to persuade her, but it is time consuming. You've showed me that you are capable of adapting to situations, even if they are extreme and unforeseen. Christopher," Malcolm whispered as he stared down at his comrade, "you will manipulate her mind so that she believes the Templar cause is more just than the Assassin's. But," he sharply hissed, "you will not pursue her just yet."

He sluggishly nodded, his jaw slack as he still was at a loss for words.

"You will handle Maria once we deal with the Assassin. I want her to see her mangled lover's body as she, too, faces the same fate he did."

Finally, Christopher managed to stutter, "Killing an Assassin is not easy, my good sir. You are only looking at the Syria sect. There are many, many more of them who would be enraged by having a Master killed by Templar's."

Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek and turned his back toward Christopher. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, Christopher. I expect Alejandro would send his men to the Holy Land to seek revenge and restore order to Masyaf."

"And what will you do about Alejandro?" Christopher desperately wanted to frown and shake his head in disapproval at Malcolm's lack of judgment. But, he'd have to settle for being a mindless figure.

"What will I do, Christopher? I'll tell you what I'll do to that Spanish piece of _mierda_," he growled as he swiveled around to face Christopher once more. His anger was not directed toward the Templar, but rather at the mentioning of the Assassin's name. "I will find his dear Estela again, hand her over to our men and watch them toy with her, cut Alejandro's throat out and wear it as a necklace, and then send it to their fortress at Andorra."

Christopher chose silence rather than words.

"The Templar message needs to be recognized by these heathens," Malcolm declared with a vicious edge in his voice. "_Fight us, and all of you will die_."

_'But they have fought us before,'_ Christopher thought to himself, _'and the only ones that have died were our own. They survived while we perished. Alejandro's fortress is one of the most advanced and well fortified citadels in Spain. He has the power of crushing us like grapes. Malcolm, what are you gaining from guaranteeing our failure?'_

He mumbled underneath his breath that he was going to retire for the night. Malcolm blinked and waved him away. Christopher eagerly bounded out of the door and retreated back to his own quarters in Chateau Narbonnais.

_'And if Alejandro becomes overwhelmed with Templars, then David and his Brother's will come to aid them.'_

He quickly jogged up a stairwell that led to the hallway his room was located at.

_'And if David intervenes, then Baldwin will have his men rush to the scene immediately.'_

Christopher turned the handle on his door and slammed it shut. He gasped for breath as the realizations pounded on him relentlessly. He grasped the door behind him for support and ran a shaking hand through his sweat covered hair.

_'My God...'_

With Baldwin's men dispatched...

_'Malcolm... you don't just want to replace our 'corrupted' Brother's with your own kin. You... you want to be the last one standing in this chaos. _YOU_ want the Piece of Eden for yourself, and NOT to be shared with our own._

_'You say that you want me to handle Maria. I know what you're planning. You're hoping that the Assassin of Masyaf will impregnate her, thus, she'd be carrying the heir to Masyaf. With me pursuing her, the remaining Assassin's will target me in hopes to protect Maria and the babe. That'd be the death of me- you know this, Malcolm. This is all a game to you. Though you say that you are able to confide in me, you too are lying. You, too, are corrupted._

_'Whoever bribed the Templar's to make you Grandmaster is benefiting from this. This isn't about power for them. No, it's power for you but something else for them. It's a taste of closure and a score to settle. Something happened to your master, Malcolm, and he's determined to scream his fury by seeing unnecessary blood flood the land. And you, Malcolm, care not for what happens to the people. I did not join the Templar's to serve the Devil! I became a Templar to serve God and His hand!_

_'This is the reason. This is the reason why Maria left us. She saw, before it was too late, what evil designs we had upon the land. And I was a contributor to these designs! Puppet! Pawn! Door-mat! Must I demote myself as a boot-licker to find the truth?_

_'But the truth has already been found. It's in our veins, and they know it. Malcolm knows it, though he will not share the information. Seer, Tyler, Clarence- they were once good men. Tyler never craved blood before his betrothed died. And I wonder why? Was Malcolm responsible for her death? Did he order men to kill her and have her body bathe in her own blood?_

_'And Clarence. You destroyed your own parents because you heard them speaking of the Hashashin. You overheard them, while still a little boy, discuss the current events around the world. They were sources for the Hashashin; informants. And you murdered them because you were afraid. You did not kill them because you thought you were protecting your family. If you thought that, then you would have never hurt your younger sister. Did Malcolm's parents plan that to happen? How far do these vile seeds go back?_

_'Then there is Seer. You're planning on killing Seer as well- but not in battle. But you will use him first to kill someone else off that you dislike. He's strong and suited to the task. But who, I wonder, are you going to have him defeat in combat? It is a man with many sources, I know that, else you would not wish him gone. He must have an army to be a threat to you, and liked by many people. There are many men with such qualities- who is it?_

_' Once Seer completes his purpose to you, you will have him rest in peace. But what peace can be found if you know that the cause you served was not what you imagined it to be? I pictured a life of honor and justice. This is not honor and justice.  
_  
_'This is madness. This is about greed. Malcolm's superior, what did the world ever do to you?'_

* * *

Malik sighed as he stood once more at the ramparts, taking in the sunset's rays. He hoped that the picturesque sight before him would settle his nerves, yet they proved not to. For instance, the Novices in the training ring behind him normally would have made him smirk in amusement. He would have shrugged and walked away, knowing that he too was once like that, but over time, they'd learn how to fully use the blade to their advantage.

Also, the fact that there wasn't any kibbeh left for dinner- no, wait, he'd always be upset and raise all Hell if some ridiculous _Novice _decided to eat all of his precious kibbeh.

However, there was one thing that piqued his interest. Outside of the practice ring, that woman that had claimed Altair's heart was with Bayo, and for the past several hours, they'd been doing exercises together. Malik found himself absolutely impressed whenever he'd glance over his shoulder to witness their training.

Maria and Hildegard, as well as the assistance of several of the Novices, had set up some obstacles for the dog. Bayo had sat, impatiently and tail wagging, as he watched logs be placed on the outskirts of of the fighting ring, as well as hay distributed here and there on the stairwells.

Maria began with his basics. The dog stood in front of her, wondering what her first order would be. She, on the other hand, stared him down with a smile and arms crossed.

_Good, so he has remembered to respect his superior._

Bayo awaited her command. His skittish behavior died down once she abruptly held out a fist. She uncurled her index finger and pointed it at the ground. She mouthed one word, and-

He sat.

_A fine start. He still knows how to sit._

She then straightened her index finger, along with her other digits, and held her hand out as if she was waving the dog off. Bayo knew better though. He stood on his hind legs, his forelegs keeping him balanced in the air as he stood deathly yet perfectly still for his mistress.

_Well done, love._

She balled her hand into a fist once more, pointed her index finger at the hound, then twirled it in circles. Bayo sat back down, then rolled onto his side and continued to flip himself over on the ground. This caused several of the Novices in the ring to turn their heads in their direction. Even their trainer had held a hand up to his men as a sign to pause the training to get a look at the orders Bayo was carrying out.

Maria held her palm out to halt Bayo's rolling. He froze instantly, lying on his stomach. She pointed up with her index finger, and he sat on his hindlegs once more. Again, she held her palm out to him, while her other hand dug at the purse at her side for the bits of raw meat she had stolen in the kitchen prior to their training. She pulled out a bit of the snack and held it high in the air for the dog to look at.

"Speak."

The bark was out of his mouth as soon as she gave the command, and no sooner had she nodded and held the meat out for him to eat. He hastily lapped it up from her palm and swallowed it. She then pulled out another piece of meat, her other hand still halting him from action. She placed the meat just on his nose, her palm still faced toward him. He breathed in the meat's aroma and felt his mouth water. She lowered her palm and crossed her arms over her chest.

He did not eat the meat. He had been fooled in the past before that he was _only _to eat the meat if she _said _so. And she did not say so.

_Good dog._

After several excruciatingly long minutes, she nodded and casually replied, with a roll of her shoulders, "Go ahead." And he thrusted his head forward and snapped his jaws around the reward.

Discipline and praise is what earned a dog's loyalty. Her uncle and brothers had taught her as much, that she knew. But it was time for the real training now.

She'd have him run the perimeter of the courtyard and count in her head how long it took him to complete several laps. She kept in mind, though, that he had several obstacles to overcome. For one, he had to balance himself on a log while running, and also jump over hay and other logs that were set up. Maria had him walk on his hindlegs, or rather, hop. He completed more laps, frothing and panting, but nonetheless, receiving praise and a proud smile from his mistress. More obstacles were added, and, after several hours of the dog tiring himself out, he trotted slowly to Maria's feet and laid down on them, his tongue sticking out as he panted to cool his exhausted body off.

Maria only chuckled and scratched the dog behind the ears. Training with Altair had only been fighting. But Maria's training was about discipline, stamina, and speed. And also a clever little trick here and there.

Maria turned her head as she heard her audience applaud her. She held back the urge to roll her eyes at Hildegard's three fellow Novices, and instead, chose to send a bemused glance at Hildegard herself. The woman had watched the entire training from the sidelines, and she was now making her way toward Maria.

"Our hound sure seems to have remembered his teachings," she chuckled as she clapped Maria on the back. The other woman shrugged and gestured toward the panting pooch with a nod of her head.

"He remembers what I've taught him, that's doubtless. It's just he's out of shape. What have these Assassin's been feeding him?"

Hildegard shrugged, then laughed when Bayo whined and leaned his head against Maria's leg. "I'm not entirely sure, dear. But," she rested her hand on Maria's shoulder, "we should head in. It'll be late soon, and it gets absolutely _freezing _here at night."

"Rain in England, cold here, I suppose," Maria mused. Hildegard rolled her eyes and began walking toward the entrance to the fortress. Maria quickly jogged and walked abreast Hildegard, Bayo lagging behind several feet. "Hildegard, you wouldn't mind doing me a favor, would you?"

"And what would that be?"

"Would it be alright with you if I'd be able to borrow some clothes? This gown, it's just..." Maria sighed and shook her head. "It isn't exactly suitable for me."

Hildegard, being oblivious to Maria's true intentions, nodded her head enthusiastically. "I was wondering when you'd ask me. A dress isn't something that you belong in, love. Come, I've a tunic and britches that I wore when I arrived here. No, don't give me that look, you won't look suspicious in them. Practically all of the Assassin's here have seen me wearing them."

_'Perfect.'_

* * *

Malik climbed down the ladder that led back to the courtyard and ascended the stairwell back inside the fortress. Hildegard was right; it did become unbearably cold sometimes, and the sun wasn't even gone all the way yet and he could already feel the night's chill claim Syria. Of course, there was just that tiny sliver of sunlight left...

He rolled his eyes and breathed in relief once he was back inside the warm, torch-illuminated fortress. He made his way up to Altair's study, but frowned once he could find no trace of the man. Peculiar. Usually he'd be awake, far into the night, writing down orders for their Brothers and also trying to make sense of the current Templar threat.

But not tonight. Narrowing his eyes even more, Malik decided to try his chambers. Though he knew the man better than anyone else in the fortress, Maria being the exception, it was downright impossible to locate him at times.

He searched the hallways, taking care to ask a few Assassin's along the way if they had seen the Master. And, of course, they had not seen him since the incident that happened in the courtyard hours ago. This had Malik shake his head. He knew that Altair could be hard on himself and that he was prone to choosing solitude over company if something personal plagued his mind. But this was absurd. It was a woman- _a woman! the lesser sex! _that had him sulk away, his tail between his legs. Figuratively, of course.

"Depths of despair my buttocks," Malik muttered to himself. "I'll give you depths of despair if you do not choose to finally realize that_ Allah! I have something between my legs and I am indeed a man!" _This small statement had several Assassin's swiftly turn their heads in the man's direction, their eyes bulging beneath their hoods. Several of the Novices though, couldn't help but to giggle at this.

Finally reaching the Master's door, he didn't bother knocking, and instead shoved the door open and invited himself into the room. He was not surprised at all to see Altair hunched over his desk, the Piece of Eden before him.

"Begging the artifact is not going to help you in any way, Brother," Malik sighed as he clicked his tongue at him.

Altair glared up at him. He rested his forehead in his palm, his hair unruly and tangled- not that he'd care. After all, he had lived a year with an _animal _infesting his face, and it only took him long enough to finally shave the damn skunk off.

"Where have you even been? We haven't seen hide nor tail of you since-"

_"Don't. Say. It."_

Malik blinked, then took a seat at the side of his bed. "You really do need more chairs in here-"

_"Malik."_

"Sometimes a man needs some back support while sitting-"

_"Malik."_

"Or maybe we should get you some pillows and cushions for the floor, like a Bureau-"

_"MALIK."_

This outburst quickly had the one-armed man's mouth quickly snap shut. He stared at Altair's wild and narrowed eyes.

_"BE. QUIET."_

Malik slowly nodded, observing Altair as he turned his attention back to the Apple. The man allowed his mind to be taken by the artifact, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to find some closure within the metal ball. Malik knew that this was unhealthy and unwise for him. Prolonged exposure to the Piece of Eden's manipulative hold could destroy a man, as it had destroyed Al Mualim and who knows before him.

Malik stood from the bed and removed the artifact from Altair's line of sight by hiding it behind his back. The Master of Assassin's eyes immediately filled with life once again, and, just as abruptly, a snarl appeared on his handsome face.

"I believe I know what my limits are, Malik."

"Yes," Malik snorted, "but I believe that finding comfort in a non-living object is not good for the soul. It is a piece of metal, Altair. You turn to that thing in hopes that it will enlighten you in terms of Maria."

_"That is not true,"_ Altair spat at him.

"Then try to find the answer amongst our brethren that have already found their paradise. Surely they, with thrice the amount of experience that you have, will hold what you are searching for."

"Memory Hall did me little to nothing," Altair whispered. "What I am looking for cannot be found amongst our own. I seek a woman that has yet to accept me."

Malik internally rolled his eyes and placed the Piece of Eden back on his desk, satisfied that he would not attempt to gaze back into the orb. He awkwardly placed his hand on Altair's shoulder. "And yet you do not accept the terms that she must face-"

"I _do _accept the terms, Malik! She does not allow me to speak with her without belittling me- to even look at her causes such grief that I question my own choices. I fancy this woman beyond anything else- I favor her, Malik. I adore her. And yet no matter how much I try to repent and apologize-"

"I haven't heard an apology from you yet," Malik mumbled. "Your words are becoming twisted whenever you speak with her, Altair. You say something, yet you mean another completely. At least, she takes it in differently than how you intended."

"Then how must I handle her, Malik? What miracle do you have that I don't?"

"Well," Malik mused, "there's the fact that I _think _before I act, and the fact that I am considered to have much wisdom considering my age."

"If you have only come to boast and inflate your ego, then _leave_."

"No, no, forgive me," he shrugged, "I have not come to do anything of the sort. I only wanted to know how you were fairing, seeing as how the _entire fortress _is talking about you behind your back. How do you feel of this?"

"Humiliated, embarrassed, subdued, withered-"

"Good, so you know that what you did was completely foolish, and that you should have at least said something else other than 'I will discuss your duties in due time'. Honest to Allah, you actually think that a woman like _her _would enjoy taking orders from a man like _you_? I don't even know her, yet I can tell that she is very bold and has a sharp tongue that she knows how to use."

Altair closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"And with you looking into the Piece of Eden... it proves that yes, she does not deserve to speak with a complete ass like you."

This had Altair bolt right up in his chair and stare demons and fiends at Malik. "You know _nothing _of why I look into that-"

"Weakness, Altair, weakness. Don't succumb to its hold. Submitting yourself to the promises that this ball offers you is just another form of a sin. Do you remember why it is that the illusion that Al Mualim had cast over Masyaf did not affect you?"

"This is irrelevant-"

"Who you are, and what you do, are twined too tight together, Altair. If the Old Man had ever spoken the truth, then that was it. He was right, and I believe those words. Only, now, who you are and what you do are completely shaken because of your dramatic perception of the matter at hand."

Altair rolled his eyes and ran both his hands through his hair. "And I suppose, Malik," he accusingly muttered, "that you know the perfect solution to my deprived heart?"

"Easy. Allah gave you hands for a reason."

Altair closed his eyes and pursed his lips in irritation.

"Allah also gave you a brain and a personality, Altair. Perhaps, using the two together will help?"

"What do you mean by this?"

"What I mean is that she fell in love with a man that was sure of himself and knew what he was doing- knew what he believed in was his purpose in life. She fell in love with that man, not a man who contents himself by moping around and pitying himself. Oh, do _not _give me that look. You pity yourself every day, Brother. Maria did not want a man who would trip over himself just to speak with her. Rather, it was the other way around, I believe.

"You caught her off guard, Altair. She was not looking for a life partner. She was not looking for a lover. She was only looking for something worthwhile to do with her life. Her beliefs were crushed, her allies turned to enemies save for a few, as Hildegard is proof of that, and she only had one thing left in her life: ambition. Ambition to be great and give a new message for women.

"When you came into her life, it was out of pure loathing, Brother. She despised you, and you disliked her for she was Templar. But she changed, and you changed. You became wiser, she became more patient with you. You grew on each other. She touched a part of your heart that had remained cold since Adha's death. She opened your eyes to see the world from herself, and you did the same for her. Each of you taught the other something new and different- something forbidden, as well.

"Remember yourself, Altair. Remember the honorable man you used to be. You went from arrogant, to patient, to wise and humble, and then you came tumbling back downhill. You are now on your way to failure and disappointment. You aren't there yet, Brother, but you will be soon if you continue to ignore your duties and broach over Maria. It takes time for internal wounds to heal, and I do not think weeks will have the time necessary for the two of you to realize that fighting and resisting each other will just not work.

"I can see the tension you have for her. I've seen it for over a year now. You yearn not only for her love and flesh, but you yearn for companionship. Your Brothers do not satisfy this loneliness inside of you. You require a woman by your side, and that is perfectly alright. Each man requires something different to be successful, and if your need is a woman, then so be it.

"You seek to have at least a friendship with her, to have someone else's opinion on a matter besides my own. You and I are of the same faction, we will think the same. But she is of no faction and no belief. She will think differently from us. You envy that of her. You love that of her. It is her difference from other women that makes her stand out and prominent to you, Altair. She is not defiant to the point where she is a plain bitch, but she will become that if need be. She defends her pride just as a man would. She will shed blood if necessary, though she prefers not to.

"That is where she is similar with you. Just because a year has past, and she birthed a dead baby boy, does not mean that fire is gone. It is still inside of her, just buried. She is distressed and she too is not herself. Both of you need to realize that you have changed for the worse over the year and overcome _yourselves _before you even consider speaking to the other. Rushing this will only end in spoilage. We cannot afford that with you, Altair. I do not want to see myself take your place as Master of the Hashashin. My heart is content as being your right-hand man."

Altair stared, his face blank and devoid of emotion, as he absorbed Malik's speech. His words had a great affect on the man, making him feel almost _relieved _to hear the truth. In his mind, he'd be thinking that he'd have to do _that _to win Maria over, or that he'd have to do _this _to get her to at least smile at him. But he'd been treating her as a prize; a toy. She was flesh and bone, same as him. He had belittled her as a standard woman, and she knew it.

And she hated it.

It was obvious now, what problems he needed to solve. Malik was absolutely correct. He couldn't wait for Maria and constantly walk on eggshells around her. He'd have to resume with his own life and relearn himself. He'd have to give her time to bounce back to her former personality and to allow a year's worth of pain to be healed. He wanted to mend her suffering himself, perhaps with his flesh, but it would not do. They'd both have to overcome the thorn in their side, thus becoming stronger from it. Then maybe they would earn each other's friendship back.

It wasn't just Altair who had to prove himself worthy to Maria once more. No, he'd been a fool to think that. The woman that his heart had been captured by was somewhere inside of her. She was too distraught, as Malik had said, to revert to her defiant and proud demeanor once more. For them to accept each other so soon... They'd be two completely different people. There was a difference, he noted, between a change in person and a change in experience. He knew that she would never forget how alone and worthless she felt while being pregnant in England, and how insignificant she must have thought herself to be when she gave him a child. She'd always have those scars, but he had his own scars from her absence as well.

It was an experience that they would both benefit from.

He had been too focused on himself, thinking that _he _was at fault when there was no fault at all. It was responsibility. They both had responsibilities to themselves, and in his case, to his people. He couldn't force this upon Maria. To do so would not only give himself a new personality, but she would be persuaded that he'd never be worth her time again.

"Malik?"

Malik hesitantly looked his friend in the eye, hoping that what he said hadn't upset him further. Instead of finding anger and betrayal in the man's eyes, he found respect and gratitude. "Yes?"

"Thank you, Brother," Altair whispered. His expression softened and he gave Malik's shoulder a firm pat. "For everything."

Malik looked absolutely smug. "I suppose this is the part where I tell you 'I told you so'," he mused. He, too, however, placed his hand on his shoulder. "But what are brothers for?"

They both nodded in agreement at this statement.

* * *

The Novice searched the vantage tower, making sure that the other men were asleep. He stepped over their slumbering figures, being sure to be as silent as a predator on the hunt. Once he reached the door to the stairwell that led to the top of the tower, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The Assassin's were still resting in their pallets, their blankets tucked around them and curled underneath their chins.

_Such fools!_

He'd been surrounded by these idiotic men for almost a year now, coping with their demands and their mysterious personalities. The men were not like his own. Whereas Templar's would converse with one another and jest, these men were always on duty. They were disciplined to the point where they did not speak. Instead, they gave each other small gestures to show their appreciation. _Ridiculous!_

Mashhur quietly watched over Masyaf and their occupants for the past year. He was only seven and ten years old, and he had grown a sense of patience and tolerance for these men while being with them. He did not find them to be threatening as Assassin's were rumored to be. He found them dull and wished them Hell and more. He'd been at this post for a year now, wondering what his purpose was.

But now he knew it.

He witnessed earlier that day the Master and his woman. They confronted each other, both of them not showing any sign of love or adoration. There was only loathing coming from their uncomfortable and stiff postures. Finally, his patience has paid off! There was something useful to tell his Templar allies. The Master of Assassin's was very frantic nowadays, seeing as how his flower chooses to despise him rather than strip and bed him. There is no solace or pleasure found in there relationship- not anymore, at least.

It was the time to strike. The Master's mind- how much he _hated_ referring to the man as _Master!_- was too preoccupied with his love to pay any mind to the schemes festering beyond Masyaf's walls. He saw how lost and hurt he had been from seeing her publicly reject him. It was obvious as the difference between night and day! _What a fatal mistake he made._

He ascended the stairs without a moment to lose. He was eager now. He'd finally be doing something worthy for his brethren. He would not disappoint the men that raised him since childhood.

Swiftly reaching the room that the stairs led to, he opened the door, restraining a sigh of relief from not hearing the hinges cry. He gently clicked the door shut, careful not to make any excessive noise. Though snores filled the room below him, he knew how easy it was for an Assassin to cast sleep aside and be on full alert.

He fumbled around the room until he found flint. He groped even more in search of a candle, and this time, he actually did sigh once he felt the stick of wax in his hand. Striking the stones together, he produced a spark that fed off of the candle. He stuck the candle in its holder and settled it on the floor, then placed the stones back where he had found them, being sure not to leave any trace that he'd been slacking on the job. A Novice accessing a restricted room would have him be demoted to kitchenboy. Though, being caught conspiring with their enemy would surely result in death for the boy.

Mashhur made his way toward the bureau off to the side of the room and ripped open a drawer, fishing around for parchment, a quill and ink. His hands trembled as he brought his supplies on the floor near the candle. He swallowed down the lump of anticipation in his throat and breathed in deeply, trying to settle his jittery nerves. Now was not the time to make mistakes. He had the death of the Assassin's right at his fingertips. Inhaling, he dipped his quill into the ink and began to write.

_C.,_

_The time is nigh, dear master. The Master of Hashashin is currently too obsessed with our traitor to even think about the safety of his people. He broods day and night, sulking in every corner he deems dark enough for him. He does not care that his own Brothers laugh at him or that they speak so lowly about him when he is nowhere to be found. He helps himself to the pleasure of himself, wishing dearly that that Thorpe whore would be the one to fondle and comfort him. It is ridiculous, but it has proved useful and also amusing._

_The Thorpe woman is also upset. She is not herself. She is not the warrior you once viewed her to be. She trembles on sight of the Assassin. She does not hold any more glory in her soul. It has died along with her babe. She seemed particularly frazzled when she and the Assassin confronted each other. I suspect that she will either try to avoid him at all costs, or that she will run away. To do so would weaken the Assassin's even further. Everything is working to our advantage._

_They will fall. The Assassin's will not live to see our New World. We will prevail._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you._

_-Mashhur_

He nodded his head as he reread the letter. It had everything he needed to tell his master. Mashhur quickly sealed the letter and approached the ladder at the far side of the room. He climbed it, opened the trap door that led to the outdoors, and pulled himself up onto the very peak of the vantage point. He eyed the pigeon coop stationed there. He ungracefully pulled out one of the birds, attached the letter to its leg, and allowed it to take off into the night.

He smirked, but not from seeing the bird take flight.

Something else caused the boy to chuckle in dark delight.

Below him, he saw a lone figure atop a horse, slowly trotting through the Assassin post, not wanting to cause any unwanted attention to herself.

_'How typical of you, Maria.'_

* * *

So, I've decided to put the Author's Note on the bottom. Why not? So, here it is. First part of Chapter 13. I'm not happy with it. This is my 3rd attempt at it, and I believed that 3rd time is a charm. Hah. Hah. Hah. That was your unenthusiastic Era-Age laugh, ladies and gentlemen.

Though on the good news, I'm doing very well in medical school. Woowoo.

And, I'm feeling generous. And also hungry. But anyway. I've pretty much have this entire story mapped out. Sure, I'll be adding in some neat things here and there, but I've got the plot down for the most part. I'm opening this up to YOU, my readers. What would you like to see more of in this story? Is there a particular thing you want to happen (if it isn't something as ridiculous as Altair having a favorite pair of bunny slippers, then I might consider it)?

No cheers to MJ (BTW: MJ is Meadjean's nickname, just to get that across- they're not two different people) and Christina this time. This is all me, and I'm sure that when I reread this, I'll find a bagillion errors. Sorry, I'm a hungry human.

Also props to my two dogs for inspiring the Bayo and Maria scene. Only, my dogs are as obedient as an orange peel. They'll sit whenever they damn feel like sitting XD

AND ONE MORE THING! (Yes, I just pulled a Grandpa from the Jackie-Chan cartoon!) The Assassin mentioned at the end has to do with that glitch (I think it is?) in the game where when you're at the viewpoint outside of Masyaf, one of the Assassin's is red if you use Eagle Vision. So, I decided to use it to my advantage. And BOTTA BING, BOTTA BOOM! You get what I wrote.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Translations:

_sharmuta:_ whore/prostitute

_mierda: _shit

**To one of my reviewers, Panda: Don'tchu worry about that letter from chapter 9, I haven't forgotten about that. And don't fret, it'll come back to bite Maria in the ass sooner or later XD **


	18. Chapter 13, Part 2

Alright, alright, I know I promised this on Christmas, but hey, I'm two days late, gimme a break XD Consider this a late Christmas present, early New Year's present. Not much to say about it, just hope you all enjoy it.

Hope everyone's holiday was better than mine (seriously, I really do hope that). Cheers to no editors, this is all me.

Enjoy!

**Hey, guess what, U of T? Don't like it? Don't read it.**

* * *

_She laid in bed, arms folded over her chest and breathing calm as she stared up at her ceiling. It was close now. She could feel it. It was well into the night, maybe even morning already. She didn't know, night was different in this land than it was in England. Even while in the Crusades, she still had difficulty telling what time of day it was._

_Sunny, cloudy, or dark. Syria's three attributes that confused her so._

_She shuddered as a chill, not caused by the climate, crawled up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. She unconsciously held herself tighter to ward the cold away, but she knew better. Anticipation combined with fear had a tight grip on her as of late._

_She thought of her decision: leave Masyaf. It was either that or stay and wither away because of that damned man. She couldn't have that. It'd eat away at her, and a repeat of the year prior would occur._

_How many more blows could she handle? She was barely holding herself together. One more encounter with _him _would surely cause her to fall into failure and darkness._

_Not only that, but it contradicted her personal philosophy. If there was a problem that she was able to solve, she was the type of woman that would solve it. And the solution to her troubles was running away. She wasn't sure where she'd go, only that she'd go. How would she live with herself, knowing that she'd be so hypocritical as to not put her words into action?_

_The plan was already formulated and growing. She'd slowly make her way back to where Aden, Olivia, and Zaina were taken as hostages and start from there. She'd find them._

_Then she'd find Damiel. She was confident that Benjamin was capable of defending himself. He knew the land better than the other Rose's did and he knew how to survive on his own._

_Her duty to her friends came before her duty to herself. She had left them to fend alone, and she knew that that went against her personal beliefs. Whether or not she'd find corpses or breathing beings, she would still put her heart into rescuing them._

_What had they done for her? Nothing, yet everything. Aden was an unbecoming, annoying, temperamental donkey of a man— or, rather, he _claimed _he was a man. He was always trying to better her at everything. From the moment she met him, she knew that he was a royal pain in the ass. He was always trying to look golden in Benjamin's eyes, something that the veteran only saw in Maria. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was his ego._

_Olivia and Zaina. Probably the two most peculiar women she had ever met, despite her own unfeminine behavior. Zaina, the typical damsel in distress. Olivia, the damsel in distress' backbone._

_Maria took in a shaky breath before slowly swinging her legs over the side of her bed. It was time. She stood and slipped her nightgown off and over her head. Standing nude, she stood at her dresser, staring at the clothes Hildegard had obliviously let her borrow. _

_If she stayed, she'd be forced to subject herself to that man. The dim, nearly dead feelings she had for him were too scattered and porous to have her stay. If she didn't leave, she'd be standing nude in front of him and not in front of a dresser._

_Maria silently thanked Hildegard for her foolishness. If the saying 'fate likes fools' was actually true, she probably would not have smirked so smugly._

_But maybe Maria herself was the fool._

_She closed her eyes and gave a firm shake of her head. No. It was not healthy to dwell upon. Nor was the fact that her closest friend might be accused of things she was not responsible for. Hildegard was not something to think of. The woman would be fine here alone. After all, her welcome at Masyaf lasted longer than her own. She would be fine. She had another to think about._

_With this new confidence in mind, Maria dressed in Hildegard's garbs, gritted her teeth and hesitantly turned the handle on her door. She'd be damned if some ridiculous Assassin decided to take a little stroll in the middle of the night around the fortress. She braced herself, then pulled the door open. She winced as the hinges creaked, the wood crying out her plans into the night— _

_Nothing._

_The corridor was deserted, no trace of any novices prying about. Splendid, yet terrifying. What if they knew what she was up to? What if they— no, HE, was waiting for her? Dear God, the thought managed to have her gulp down a lump in her throat._

_Stepping lightly through the fortress, she gave an inaudible sigh of relief once she reached the foyer. No guards on duty, all was asleep. She forced a smile to her lips, pathetically trying to convince herself that everything would go according to plan. She was about to step down the small staircase that led to the courtyard, but stopped herself._

_It didn't seem right. Maria closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists. Perhaps she should leave a note? Just to let them know that she'd be alright..._

_She rolled her eyes from being agitated with herself and marched back up the stairwell and turned toward his study._

_Empty._

_He wasn't at his desk burying his nose into his Order's affairs. He was asleep. He was human, after all, and needed his rest._

_Maria placed her hand on a bookshelf and gave the study a brief look-over. Books everywhere, unorganized documents littering the desk, stale bread scattered about. What sort of man left his work space such a disaster?_

_'A man deprived of meaning,' she thought bitterly. She slumped her shoulders and made her way to his desk. Idly, she leafed through his papers. Nothing that interested her._

_Why was she doing this?_

_Maria dug her toe into the floor and grasped the table with both hands. She had to leave. She couldn't live with this stress any longer, nor the responsibility of her comrades._

_But was that what she _wanted?

_She tightened her grip on the table as her hands began shaking. No, she didn't know what she wanted. It felt... out of place to leave. There was something— no, some_one _that needed her here. She had a responsibility, a purpose, a love at Masyaf. _

_Would it truly be so terrible if she didn't leave? The nights that she knew she'd eventually spend with him, since every person's defenses eventually broke, would they be so awful as to hate him? Would his body coupling with hers ignite more fury? She knew, underneath his want of her companionship, that that was also something he desired from her. She knew men, and she knew the one thing in common they all wanted._

_Would she be able to give that to him if she stayed—_

_If she stayed. No. _NO.

_This was troublesome and a waste of her time._

_Maria shook her head and ran a hand through her hair._

_'Just what are you doing, Thorpe?'_

_She pushed herself away from his desk and fumed down the stairs back to the foyer. How could she even think of such possibilities with him? He had disgraced her, made her life miserable, and here she was thinking that she should pity him and offer her body to him._

_The thought of even considering bedding with him had her knuckles turn white._

_With more confidence in her stride, she briskly walked out into the courtyard, not sparing a glance back at the desk. She had enough to worry about. Altair's petty emotions could wait. She'd write to him, maybe. In a year or two, to tell him how she's doing. Of course, she'd never tell him where she'd be, but he'd have to cope with that._

_He was a big boy, he'd live._

_Maria breathed out a white puff of air once she'd made it at the bottom of the steps. Of course, the training ring was deserted, no Assassin in sight. If the Assassin's were retired for the night, and none of them were in the courtyard, why was she feeling as if eyes were on her?_

_The urge to take a quick look over her shoulder, just to be safe, was repressed as she grumbled to herself. She was just imagining it, of course. With Hildegard's cloak and other clothes, Masyaf's people would assume that she'd be just that woman instead of her true identity. There was nothing to worry about._

_Turning, her eyes scanned the courtyard's walls for the weapon rack. She almost cursed herself when she realized she no longer had Ebony and Ivory. Bara would kill her if he ever found out how careless she'd been with the weapons._

_'But Bara isn't here,' she thought solemnly. The man's memory was still heavily imprinted in her mind; she'd never forget him. _

_She pulled a dull sword from the rack. Frowning, she examined the blade. Novices weren't permitted to use advanced weaponry as their superiors were. Figures the training weapons would be in standard condition. But this was all she could use to defend herself. Sheathing the weapon at her side and pulling her hood and cloak about her, she left the courtyard and ventured into the town below._

_She had only seen the actual town of Masyaf from her bedroom window. But now that she was walking the dusty, somewhat cobblestone streets, she grew weary and frustrated with how maze-like the place actually was. It took her a great deal of time before she realized the city was laid out in layers. She learned that from almost falling off the edge of one particular street with a haystack practically laughing at her._

_'Bloody Assassin's and their perverted architectural designs,' she hissed in her mind. Finally making it to the fountain in the marketplace, she rolled her eyes when she discovered a small circle of young men speaking to each other with dramatic hand gestures._

_She prayed that she'd be able to pass._

_Breathing deeply, she approached the men._

_Their conversation— something about _kibbeh labniyeh— _abruptly stopped once they saw her coming toward them. They eyed her carefully, and Maria swore to herself internally. They were bound to be suspicious—_

_Their grey hoods became visible as they bowed their heads down out of respect to her. One of them even murmured, "Lady Hildegard," under their breath as acknowledgment. _

_Maria didn't know that she'd been holding her breath. She finally let the clogged air out of her lungs and gave the men a firm nod._

_"A beautiful night for a walk, is it not?"_

_Maria forced herself to smile and bob her head up and down in agreement. "Yes," she replied softly, "it truly is. There's just so much to think about lately, walking seems the only way to rid myself of it." She hoped that the words didn't sound as rushed and nervous as they felt in her mouth._

_One of them chuckled, the sound not deep enough to label them as a grown man. She narrowed her eyes under her hood at him. He wasn't a man at all! He was roughly Damiel's age, give or take a year or two._

_Damiel..._

_It was a reminder of her mission. She couldn't afford to stand around for idle conversation. Luckily for her, one of the boys seemed to sense this as well._

_"We shouldn't waste your time, miss," one of them said politely. He motioned with his head toward the stable. "I believe that Shihad's eager to see you. Perhaps you should exercise the beast, seeing as how the Master is far too busy to do so," he added in quietly._

_'Shihad?' Maria thought to herself. Of course he was a horse, she garnered that much. She looked over at the stables, a few sleepy heads peeking out from their stalls. But which one was Shihad?_

_She slowly stepped to the stables and stopped once she was in front of the stalls._

_"Don't worry," the one who had previously chuckled whispered, "as long as you're back before the sun comes up, the Master will not know. Trust me: he won't hear it from us."_

_Maria secretly smiled from this news. She'd be off a ways from Masyaf by the time the sun rose. She calculated the time it'd take the man to figure out that she had actually left. Hildegard would no doubt think that she'd just went brooding on her own in a corner of the town, and most likely hinder him from actually setting off to search for her._

_It was a perfect amount of time._

_She looked left and right at the heads peering curiously at her, no longer hazed by their sleep. One horse whickered softly at her, smelling a familiar scent on her cloak. She held her hand out to the beast, and it instantly recoiled its head, but then brought its muzzle back to her palm._

_Wasn't this the lady that master had placed upon his back when they were at that gloomy, dull and depressing city? Yes, yes it was!_

_Shihad whinnied, and Maria couldn't help but to chuckle at how peculiar the beast looked. His eyes were kind and gentle, and his muzzle velvet to the touch. She rubbed her palm against his nose, and he smacked his lips playfully against her hand._

_Remembering that she had an audience, she abruptly withdrew her hand away and made to saddle and tack the horse. However, she discovered that while pampering the animal, the novices had taken the courtesy to do it for her. She nodded in thanks at them and mounted._

_"Be sure to avoid Damascus, miss," one of the boys warned just as she was about to dig her heels into her mount's sides._

_"Yes," another one chimed in, "Damascus has been very... questionable as of late. Best not to take any chances."_

_Maria frowned and jerked on the reins from Shihad bobbing his head impatiently. "What's been eating away at the city?"_

_"It isn't the city itself," the boy looked at his friends for support, "but..."_

_"There have been caravans going to and fro Acre and Damascus for the past week or so, miss. They bore the Templar insignia. We aren't sure what they're up to, but it cannot be good, that we know."_

_Maria bit the inside of her cheek and absent-mindedly rubbed Shihad between his ears. "Where are these caravans now?"_

_"Just outside of Damascus, a little southwest of the city. Our scouts tell us that they haven't moved for some time, and it is not my place to say, but I can safely assume that they're waiting for reinforcements. Reinforcements for and to what, it is beyond our knowledge."_

_Maria, appearing to take the warning to heart, secretly thought her heart would burst with joy at the thought of being out in the field again. Finally! Something that could take her mind off of _him _and supply her with information on recent Templar activities— all at the same time!_

_Shihad snorted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking._

_"My thanks, gentlemen," she replied coolly with a convincing smile. "I assure you that my path does not cross the direction of Damascus."_

_"That is good to know, my lady," the chuckling one replied. "The Master has so much on his mind lately," he sighed, not taking note of Maria's eyes flickering back and forth between the sky and the boy, "with his woman and responsibilities, of course."_

_Her knuckles tightened around the reins and she raised her eyebrows from the statement. These people considered _her _to be _his _woman?_

_And then another one had to put their word in as well. "He misses her so dearly, Hildegard. I wonder if there is anything we can do for them? You should see the way he just stares out of his window, completely lacking any emotion." Maria's teeth clenched together. "It's absolutely heartbreaking."_

_"To think," one of them whispered, "that two people, obviously in love with each other, would disregard the other and dismiss them entirely from their life. I'm not sure if I could do such a thing if I had feelings that the Master had for his _habibti."

_"I've never seen a man with greater stress—"_

_"Pardon me," Maria nearly growled out, "but you fine specimens are throwing my time away like an old maid dumping a chamberpot out of a window." The boys instantly looked down at their feet in shame. Her voice did not soften, however. "I expect you to keep your promise to not tell the Master _anything._"_

_Their replies were hushed and mumbled "yes, ma'am"s. Blowing between her teeth in irritation, she dug the stirrups into Shihad, albeit a bit too roughly. The horse snorted and more than willingly complied with the command._

_It was about time he got some exercise! Being cooped up day and night was just unhealthy for any living being._

_'Cooped up', indeed, was a fantastic phrase to describe Maria's situation. Tired of the walls, tired of the eyes watching her, tired of that desperate and sulking face of that damnable man._

_"'Never seen a man with greater stress'," Maria muttered under her breath as she slowed Shihad down to a slow and unalarming trot once she reached the Assassin's post. She barely glanced at the tower as she spat what the boy had said to her. "I'll give the man great stress, alright."_

_This idea caused her to sneer like the Devil. If Altair was as great as he silently claimed himself to be, then surely he could handle a few more heart-stopping moments, courtesy of no other than Maria Thorpe herself._

_

* * *

_

Altair bolted upright from his sleep, eyes darting about in the darkness, sweat caking his skin and causing his hair to stick to his brow. He was surrounded in darkness, his breathing heavy and trembling. He smothered his face with his hands as he rubbed what was left of his sleep from his eyes, then collapsed back in bed.

_What was that?_

Blinking rapidly, he stared at the top of his canopy, his arms outstretched on either side of him, the blankets now barely covering his bare form.

It was another one of those harsh, lonely nights, where he needed her. He ached and yearned for her, his mind screaming at him to either find her or find the nearest brothel.

And of course, he didn't give into his masculine desires, and instead, had to pleasure himself. When would it end? He was tired of all of it. For once, he needed to be dominated by another being, and that being just happened to despise him to the end of the world.

Running his hand over his face again, he tried to control his erratic breathing to a normal and steady beat. However, it did near nothing to loosen the tight knot in his chest.

_Was it a dream?_

He shook his head lightly and sat up slowly. No, it wasn't possible. His Brothers were bound to notice her, and even if they didn't, he doubted she'd leave Hildegard all alone in Masyaf. The dream was far too detailed, far too clever—

But Maria was a clever woman. It was typical of her to scheme the impossible, and then perform said impossible.

But she was wearing Hildegard's clothes. She would have had to silently crept into Hildegard's room and remove them from her drawers. Yes, it was only a dream, how could he let his mind convince him otherwise?

But Maria and Hildegard were with each other yesterday—was it even tomorrow yet?— while doing exercises with Bayo, as his Brothers told him. She could have innocently asked for an extra pair of britches and a tunic, and _voila. _

No, no, but that was far too intelligent for a wom—

'_She is not a woman.'_

Tugging the canopy open, he screwed his eyelids shut as the morning light took the opportunity at hand and promptly attacked his retinas. Uttering a curse, he threw his legs off the bed and began to dress, all the while not taking his eyes off of the window.

She left in the middle of the night, before dawn even. And what time was it now? A few hours _after _dawn? Maybe even more than a few, most likely.

But why was he even pondering over it? It was only a dream, just his mind trying to have him worry even more for her.

'_She is a damn temptress.'_

Finally dressed in his appropriate garments, he hastily made his way out of his room and descended the stairwells that led to the residence hall. Surely Hildegard would confirm that he was only being paranoid at the moment. Maria was probably still asleep, or with Bayo training him, or in the dining hall eating, and most certainly _not _out in the Kingdom.

She was in Masyaf, perfectly safe from him. Bah, why was his neck still slick with sweat?

He rapped Hildegard's door with his knuckles and waited. One, two, three...

No reply. He knocked again, this time with his fist. Four, five, six..

Nothing. Breathing out his irritation, he took a step back, then gave a quick and powerful kick with his foot, the door hinge breaking from the blow.

The room was empty, no blonde and hindering woman in sight. He rolled his eyes and made his way to the courtyard. That's it! They were probably there, watching the novices train, maybe even joining in themselves. Or Hildegard was with Malik somewhere, talking his arm off or annoying him until his ass twitched so much it fell off.

And Maria was... she was...

'_Not in her room,' _he thought as he spared a quick glance at the woman's open bedroom door. His heart sank further in his chest when he happened to overhear a conversation once he reached Masyaf's foyer.

"Then _why _are there only nineteen, Harun?"

"I do not know, master."

Two men, a novice and one of the fencing trainers, stood outside on the top of the staircase that led to the courtyard. The novice, clearly flabbergasted, merely shrugged his shoulders and did his best to defend his case.

"You were the last one out of the ring yesterday, Harun. Do you mean to tell me that one of the swords just magically wandered off on its own?" The trainer folded his arms over his chest and gave a disapproving frown at the boy.

"W-well," he stuttered uneasy, "I do not see any other explanation—"

"Well, perhaps kitchen duty for the next week will open your eyes to another explanation."

"B-but, sir!"

"But nothing," the trainer said with a final shake of his head. "I only asked _one _thing of you, Harun: to make sure all the weaponry and equipment is returned to their proper place." He motioned with a wave of his hand at the weapon rack. "And you cannot even carry out _that _simple order. Do you honestly expect me to give you permission to wield a blade in the training ring?"

"N-no, I-I—"

"If you don't have the responsibility of making sure all twenty swords are back where they belong, then perhaps kitchen duty will teach you responsibility. That's _two _weeks now for your incompetence."

Harun hung his head low and murmured a "yes, sir" before sulking with heavy feet toward the kitchen.

Altair's nostrils flared as another icy finger curled around his heart. _Maria took a sword off the rack in the dream.._

Dream. It was a _dream. _One of the novices probably left it lying about in the barracks or at the side of the ring somewhere. He'd done that plenty of times while still wearing the grey hood.

With that partly sticking to mind, he exited the courtyard, nodding his head in greeting to fellow Brothers as he passed them. He was just about ready to convince himself that Maria was most likely in the town, buying something of interest to her, when another conversation caught his ear.

"The stables have been pretty busy lately, haven't they?"

"Why, yes, of course! The Master recently purchased several new mounts, which require the stable-hands' full attention. You should see them. Magnificent creatures."

"What, the stable-hands?"

"No, you idiot. The _horses!_"

Altair inclined his head toward the two townspeople. He _had _recently bought horses: mares, for breeding purposes.

"Perhaps I will tell my sons about this. The Master doesn't mind the children playing with the female ones."

"Oh, but there is a problem, my friend!"

The other man took a quick glance, not noticing the Master of Assassin's within hearing range, and took a step closer to his friend. "What is it?"

"It's his horse again, that's what."

"Whose horse?"

"_His _horse, my friend. The _Master's._"

"And? He's wandered off before, surely he'll come back this time?"

"But what if he doesn't? That'll be the end of my job, no doubt."

"Then the beast was never worth the Master's time. How does this relate to my sons playing with the mares?"

The other villager placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "If word gets out that Shihad escaped again, then I'll be in more trouble than I can afford. I've a family to think about."

"Of course, of course. I won't breathe a word to _anyone _about this." He returned the pat on his friend's shoulder. "_Ma'assalama, _friend." Both men dispersed.

Altair groaned and shook his head. He did _not _need this right now, he really didn't—

"What's got your hair in a knot?"

The feminine voice almost had him breathe out in victory through his pursed lips. He turned around to acknowledge her, his face blank as usual.

Hildegard wrinkled her nose at him when he made to reply. "I was _serious. _What's got your hair in a knot?" When he took a step back out of bewilderment like a spooked horse, she rolled her eyes and motioned to her own head. He slowly brought his hand up to his hair and tried to run his fingers through it.

Tangles, snarls, and knots.

Hildegard laughed and crossed her arms over herself. "I can see that someone doesn't exactly know what a comb is, do they?"

The tease was lost on him as his face paled and he looked away. Her smile faded and she tilted her head to the side. Before she could ask, he whispered, "I cannot find her."

"Find who?" she asked bluntly. He only sighed and glared at a stone he dug his boot into. "Look, as much as I pride myself in my skills, mind-reading is not one of them."

"Maria," he murmured, "I can't find her."

"Really." Hildegard stated incredulously. She shrugged her shoulders and flipped her hair behind her. "She was never lost to begin with. She's probably with Bayo, you know." When he remained silent, she continued, "You worry too much about her. You're the reminiscent of a mother hen making sure her chicks' feathers aren't ruffled in the slightest. She's a grown woman, she can handle herself just fine."

"Which was made true only too clearly at Acre," he snapped back at her.

Hildegard's features hardened as she swallowed. "Then, come. If you're so set on making a scene this early in the morning," she glanced at the sky, "then so be it. We'll start in the dining hall, since it's breakfast—"

She didn't even have time to finish her thought as the man brushed past her and into his fortress. She grumbled and trudged after him.

He moved with a smooth gait, she noticed, as she eyed him. Long, powerful legs carried his body with no effort at all, even uphill. Not quite the same way Aden moved, but both men had a sense of pride while moving, as well as that undeniable air of masculinity.

She quickly scampered up the stairs, being sure not to lose sight of him. Lord only knew what outbursts this man was capable of. Why did Maria have to choose such a _baby _as a partner?

Altair swung the dining room's doors open with both hands and stepped inside. Sure enough, there was the dog under the table, resting his head on a small pillow laid out for him by (most likely) Malik. But there was no Maria with him.

Bayo blinked and lifted his head as he caught a familiar whiff. He gave a small thump with his tail in greeting to the man and woman, then plopped his head back down on the cushion. Altair knelt beside the dog and shook him. The hound only groaned.

"Why will he not get up?"

Hildegard shrugged. "Maria worked him pretty hard yesterday. He's probably exhausted from exerting so much energy without hardly any proper exercise over the past year."

"But Maria is not here—"

"Then she's somewhere else," Hildegard lazily drawled. "Is it such a sin to wander around? It isn't like she broke any of your rules—"

Altair tuned Hildegard's pointless persuasion out and turned his attention back to the heap of fur on the floor. He tapped Bayo's muzzle, and the dog opened a sleepy eye at the man. "Where is she, Bayo?" he whispered.

Bayo whined, then covered his snout with his paws.

"—and this constant shadowing her must _stop. _If you're trying to be on civilized terms with her, stalking the poor thing is _not _the answer—are you even listening to me?" Hildegard huffed and balled her hands into fists at her sides. "No, you're not, aren't you?"

"She's gone," he mumbled to himself. Rising, he glared at Hildegard, and, in a louder voice, repeated, "She's gone."

Hildegard abruptly stepped out of his way as he stormed past her, his boots echoing off the stone floors. She shook her head and attempted to walk abreast of him, but he was already out of the dining hall and back in the foyer before she could even make her first move.

Damn Assassin.

When she finally caught up with him, a group of his guards were circled around him, and he was giving orders to them. She could only make out bits and pieces of their hushed tones as she stood outside of the ring of men.

"Look for... black hair... yesterday... woman... can't find... report back... Bayo..."

"Yes, Master," each man said as they bowed and sprinted out of the fortress and to the courtyard, where they briefed the trainers in on the situation at hand. The trainers, with a nod of their heads in understanding, ended the training session, and the guards rounded the novices up for their search-and-retrieve party.

Hildegard, meanwhile, leaned against the foyer's door frame, hip jutted and with a hand on her waist. She was unimpressed with this man's decision. Of course, given the power and control at his command since he was Grandmaster, pulling over-dramatic orders such as the one she had just witnessed was probably quite casual for him. She scrunched her face up from his thick skull.

Aden would have _never _been so gaudy and flamboyant if _he _was the one giving orders—

Well, no, that wasn't true. He probably would have made more of a show and to-do about it than Altair did. Aden would have been barking his head off, complete with clunking Damiel on the head for no apparent reason. It was definitely something to compare between the two men.

Hildegard jumped, startled, as Altair cleared his throat. The damn man had been standing next to her the whole time! She whipped around to face him.

"_Pardon me,_" she hissed, "but it'd be _polite _to _not _scare the shit out of people."

He only grunted and ignored her. '_It is my fortress, and you are my guest. I will behave as I see fit to.'_

He smiled inwardly with that new statement in mind. "I believe that would be impossible, Hildegard." When the woman tilted her head to the side innocently, he couldn't help but to snarl out, "You are just so full of it."

Her jaw went slack in horror and offense as he purposely shouldered past her into the courtyard. Her brown eyes blazed black as she glared at the back of his hood.

The guards and novices were searching the city, but what of the fortress? So much of it was left to be inspected still. There were the libraries, the towers, Memory Hall, the barracks, and even the bathhouse.

So many places, and yet he knew the one man who would get the job done.

"You want me to do _what?_"

"Yes, Brother, you heard me."

"All of this work just because of your paranoia? And all of it based off of a dream?"

"That is correct."

"And you don't know if this dream of yours is reality or not?"

"It is all a hunch, Malik."

Malik grunted and returned to looking at the town below him from the ramparts. He could see blotches of white running to and fro buildings, asking villagers if they had seen the woman. "And if this is all just a waste of my time?"

"Then you will have my apologies."

The other man rolled his eyes and shook his head, his mouth twisted into a grimace. "How can you act without even knowing, Altair? This is all so... _foolish."_

"Were you not the one who told me that we could only suspect and never know?" Altair took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his good shoulder. "Don't try to hide behind words, Malik. You and I both know that what I've seen is most likely reality."

He snorted and swatted his hand away. "I expect anything foolhardy from that woman, Altair— not that I do not respect her, oh no. Any woman that has the nerve to talk back to you, run away from home, speak such foul language, and be completely unbearable is by far admirable," he muttered sarcastically. "When you could have had _any _woman in the world, you choose—"

"I chose a _person, _Malik." He kept his voice level, but it was only a matter of time before he'd be snapping and barking at the man. "I've little time for combat with words, but if it's a fight you seek, then I will be more than happy to oblige. _After _we find her."

Malik scoffed and his frown deepened. "Anything for a woman, anything for something that may not even be true—"

"Listen, Brother. I may not know for sure, and this may all very well be, as you put it, foolish. But," he followed Malik's gaze to the town, "as you would sacrifice anything for Masyaf, as would I, I would risk everything for her."

Malik frowned and slowly looked back at his friend. Altair did not meet his gaze, but the look in his eyes as he stared into nothing was enough to make him slowly nod. "I will return when I am done patrolling. But, Altair, tell me: what will you do if we cannot find her?"

There was no bravery, and certainly no joy in his voice. But there was an undeniable amount of confidence and certainty.

"I will go after her. I'm not going to lose her again."

* * *

Shihad's hooves pounded across the Kingdom, his rider urging him to greater speed. The horse kept to the trees and cliffside as his rider guided him to do so. The sun was mercilessly blazing on the two, the rays causing sweat to form on the horse's magnificent brown coat and also on Maria's brow, even though she wore a hood. The sweat didn't last long, though: the sun saw to it that evaporation would diminish the perspiration wherever its rays reached.

A shame that the underside of her trousers did not qualify for evaporation's target.

Last night had been Hell for her. Due to her attire, whatever was left of the Saracen army had claimed her to be a spy for Europeans. Apparently, she was the spawn of the Devil and a heretic. She cursed herself for not thinking of bringing along less conspicuous clothes to change into.

Shihad, however, enjoyed outrunning the horses and men pursuing them. He was a remarkable creature. Though he looked innocent and dumbfounded most of the time, in the field or in action, his mind was in the objective and kill. Maria was almost jealous of Altair for owning such a horse.

It only made her more envious when she thought of how he had neglected the animal. Shihad was the ideal horse for any soldier, Assassin or not. The man never ceased to wrought on her nerves.

Other than soldiers chasing her throughout the Kingdom, camping was by no means a treat. She had either pulled Shihad off the main sandy roads to lessen their chances of being detected to rest in an unnoticeable spot, or she had slumped against the horse and slept while he continued to trot onward. Either way, it was still uncomfortable and did little good to her lower back, nevermind that she had recently discovered that she had her monthly curse as well.

Oh, the trials of being a woman.

Bending over in the saddle to lean her cheek against the horse's, she murmured appreciative and soothing words to him. He bobbed his head up and down as his stride increased, followed by a delighted whinny. If only Altair would let this nice lady have him...

They continued to travel the land, Maria sending prayers to the Lord each time they found any means of shade. It was terrible. With the sun high in the sky, nowhere near setting, hardly any shadows were made by the cliffs. Staying too close to the mountains were dangerous, as well. There was no telling when a rockslide would strike. Vagabonds also preferred staying hidden above ground for the bird's eye view.

They were by no means far from Damascus, but they weren't a hop and a skip away from the city either. It'd be another hour before common villagers would be seen on the crude paths laid out along the land, either carrying jugs of water or making the tedious and tiresome journey to a city of opportunity.

Deciding that Shihad could use as much exercise as necessary, Maria dug her heels into the horse's side to urge him to gallop faster.

That is, she _was about to _give the horse permission to run at an even greater speed. A group of men, dressed in turbans and traditional Middle Eastern wear, came thundering alongside her on their mounts. Shihad neighed nervously, and Maria took a greater length of the reins in her hands.

These men were not going to stop and let her pass, and she particularly didn't want them to be following her when she noticed the horses were dragging tied up victims. The unfortunate, soon-to-be slaves had their wrists bound together by ropes that were none too friendly.

But one of the men had another horse tied to his saddle, presumably for trading purposes. It was a mare, as far as Maria could tell, and its coat was dapple grey. She used to have a horse similar to this one when she was still a child in England.

Analyzing and understanding the situation at hand, Maria stood up in her saddle and gently pulled on the reins. "Whoa, whoa, boy," she whispered gently, but urgently, to the horse. He snorted, not liking the fact that his pace had slowed considerably, but listened and stopped in his tracks.

She narrowed her eyes beneath her hood as she allowed the slavers to pass her, one hand tightly gripping the reins while the other remained near the hilt of her sword. She still wasn't completely healed from her escapade at Acre, but if a fight was necessary, she was sure she'd be able to put up a decent match.

Or so her ego and pride told her.

The slavers slowed their own horses to a stop, forming a horizontal line merely fifteen or so meters ahead of her. Their captives immediately fell down to the ground, their labored panting audible from where she was standing. She saw them lean toward each other as they delved into conversation.

"_Abgha hiyya, akh."_

_"Meen? Hiyya?"_

_"Na'am, akh."_

Another one of the slavers tapped his heels to his horse and brought himself and the beast to where his two partners were. The two villagers, one man and one woman, tied to his horse cried out in agony as their muscles were once again forced into merciless pain.

The new man snorted and glanced at the lone woman astride a horse. "_Lay ish?"_

_"Feloos, akh."_

"_Kum?"_

_"Yimken ashra... ashreen?"_

Maria nervously tightened her legs around Shihad's middle, and as a response, the horse danced in place and snorted anxiously. The rest of the slavers' conversation was lost upon her as their words were more hushed. They probably sensed that she understood them, even though she was dressed as a European.

What she did, hear, however, worried her. "_Ba ad masaa... ghali... yimken jameela..."_

Maria could have sworn she saw one of the men, whom she presumed to be the leader of this band of monkeys since he was wearing the most self-indulgent and colorful silks royalty would have been jealous of, smirk before motioning for his posse to disperse.

She gritted her teeth when the captives screamed from the rope digging into their wrists. She almost charged the men full speed when one of them spat on the victims. Even their mounts seemed to be displeased by the violence as the horses pranced, almost in a panic, and their eyes rolled back into their sockets.

Finally, when the dust from the hooves died down and the men were no longer in sight, she sighed and reassuringly pat Shihad on his neck. The horse stamped his hoof as if to question her decision not to engage in battle. Maria rolled her eyes and quickly defended herself, "I'm not exactly in tip-top shape, oaf. If I attacked, I could very well have ended up like those people tied to the horses."

Shihad, however, huffed and shook his mane out of his face, grabbing the bit with his mouth as he did so. Maria stumbled atop the saddle but quickly recovered from his action. With the bit held securely between his teeth, he marched forward, trying to eagerly catch up with the slavers. Much to his dismay, Maria held him at a slow but uneasy pace as the horse zig-zagged back and forth between the cliffside and the road.

"Son of a mule," she breathed out as he stomped and tugged his head forward again. "Just... stay still—_damn!_" Shihad successfully ripped the reins from her grasp, Maria's back arching backward and feet barely in the stirrups as the horse took off in a clumsy gallop. Maria was catapulted backward when Shihad reared his hindquarters up, and she fell to the ground with an unhappy and miserable _oof!_

Groaning from the sudden onslaught of the sun since her hood had fallen back and also from the lack of care her rear-end received, she held herself in a tight ball, cursing the horse and also her menstrual condition. Honest to God, of all the times to bleed, it had to be that day.

Shihad pranced over to the fallen woman and lowered his muzzle to her head. He nipped at a few strands of black hair that weren't being held by her bun. She turned her head to the horse, her eyes cold and unforgiving. He, however, looked quite unhappy with her as well. He nipped at her arm only to receive a smack to his mouth. Squealing, he stomped backward and raised his head defiantly.

More profanities left her mouth before she removed herself from the ground. Her lower back throbbed and she did her best to soothe the pain with her hands. The massage helped somewhat, but she couldn't just throw away the day by tending to her womanly pain.

Raising her head at Shihad, she frowned when he snorted and stamped his hooves in place. Grabbing and yanking his reins to force the beast to look her dead in the eye, she snarled, "_You. Don't. Do. That. Again. EVER."_

He blew out of his nostrils, but allowed her to climb back on top of him. Grunting, he obeyed as she clicked her tongue for him to trot. He was anything but contented with this pace.

"No wonder Altair ignores you," she mumbled. "A horse with personality is rare and often appreciative, but a horse with _too much _personality is downright troublesome."

Shihad snorted, as if to say the same applied to women. Maria gasped and smacked the horse's ear from his comment. "You hush up, you useless spawn of a tongueless, hormone-less duck."

* * *

It was beginning to set— the _sun _was beginning to _set. _

He had no idea why it would take his Assassin's so long to search the whole of Masyaf, but it did. He could only assume that they were doing a fantastic job carefully investigating every square inch of the small city. It seemed that every second he spent staring out of the window of his study, the sun's descent into the mountains quickened unnaturally.

Malik had told him that she was not in the fortress itself. The one-armed man had searched the garden, he had checked the residence halls, the waste rooms, the bathhouses— everything that the Master had told him to search. But still, there was no sign of the woman.

Altair had even tried to ask Bayo to sniff her out, but the dog was content in lazing around all day and not participating in the Assassin's search party. He knew that he'd have found Maria by nightfall if the dog had only the energy to use his talents to their advantage. Unfortunately, the woman's fox-like wit had once again stumped him. It was seductive in the most perverse way.

Shaking his head, he whipped around and stormed down the stairs of his study. He couldn't wait anymore for fruitless reports. He knew she wasn't in Masyaf— he should have left hours ago! She could be halfway to England, or in a dungeon somewhere, or being forced into a bed at Acre again, or she could be dead and rotting at the side of a road somewhere for all he knew.

She was a capable woman, but even capable women wouldn't be able to hold their own with aches, pains, and injuries hindering them. And, oh Allah help her, men patrolling the Kingdom at night only had one desire from a lonesome woman.

He was about to turn into the foyer when he slammed his feet against the floor and threw his arms out to stop the novice from charging right into him. The boy was panting and gave a small, wheezy 'thank you'.

Altair frowned and held the boy at a distance for him to catch his breath. When he was in good enough shape for conversation, the Master began, "Mashhur. You are meant to be at the post outside the city. Is there anything wrong?"

The boy, doubled over, hastily replied, "Yes, Master, I know—I mean, no— but yes! Yes, yes there is!" He immediately straightened up and looked at the taller man with frightened eyes. "Our scouts report Templar's patrolling only a couple of miles outside the city! They're swarming together—"

"They plan on attacking Masyaf?" Altair's voice was cold as ice, as were his eyes. If the Templar's sought a battle, they would most certainly get one from the Assassin's.

"No, not for attacking the city! They do not bear the proper equipment for a battle! But they are meeting in the Kingdom for _something!_ What that something is, though," the boy looked down at his feet, "I'm afraid our scouts were picked off before they could finish their letter."

Altair's eyes narrowed. "And this letter? I would very much like to see it."

Mashhur's eyes widened— he should have known that he'd want to _see _the letter! "I-I... I forgot it at the post, Master," he stuttered. He hoped the man would think his poor quality of speech was because of his shock for the situation at hand. "I was in such a hurry to tell you the news, and my Brothers urged and urged me to tell the Master—"

"Quiet, Mashhur, and control your emotions," he added in quietly when the boy was almost in tears. Altair remembered that when he was a novice, the first few disasters that involved Masyaf had scared him as well, so he understood completely what fear the boy must be feeling.

"F-forgive me, Master," he sniffed as he rubbed his nose and eyes. Altair nodded, sure that the boy would be able to handle himself, before stepping past him and into the courtyard.

Mashhur carried on his pitiful act once he was sure that the man could no longer detect his presence. He then smirked, smug and satisfied with his convincing dramatic display. Templar's? Collaborating in the Kingdom just outside of Masyaf? What _falafel _was this man eating?

He stretched his arms out and shrugged. Maria was blindly walking right in on Clarence's trap. That was good. The Master would be unable to go after her and either rescue her or aid her in combat against Clarence's men, since he'd be too preoccupied with the 'raging Templar masses'. His people would surely question his ability to lead if he left them in their time of need. The Assassin was rooted to the spot, unable to help his precious little woman. That was even better.

Not to mention, if Clarence was pleased and if his plans went accordingly, then Tagvoryan would also be satisfied. Maybe he'd even be able to join him in Armenia and leave this unbearable country once and for all.

But how long would it take to drag the Thorpe woman back to Clarence for their postponed wedding? If Clarence finds her in a day or two— maybe if it even took him three days— it'd only take another three or four days, depending on what city the man wants to be stationed at, to report back to headquarters with the bitch.

All Mashhur had to do was survive a week, then he'd be golden.

* * *

"Insufferable beast," Maria swore as Shihad's stride became bumpy and unacceptable. "You know how to slow down, you mongrel." The horse groaned and tossed his head in the air, not very much liking the treatment of her jerking on the reins every other second.

Damascus was only a couple more day's away— if Shihad cooperated. She knew that she'd never make it to the city in just a lousy twenty-four hours. She dearly wished that she _was _in a city rather than in the outdoors. The sun was almost completely gone, and the bugs were out. Shihad swished them away from him with his tail, but that only caused them to find a new target: Maria.

And it was _cold. _She could see that her hands were white, even in the darkness. She was shivering, and a few times she'd rest her cheek against Shihad's neck for warmth. He, however, was much too irritated with her to have any sympathy, so he'd ram his neck into her whenever she needed the extra heat.

Not only that, but she was positive that she'd bled through the leaves she had stuffed in her undergarments. She felt something sticky on the saddle that wasn't there before, and its smell was most terrible.

She hated being a woman.

What she really wanted was to find a place for the night, gather whatever vegetation she could use as a blanket, curl up while being miserable, and just sleep. But no, Shihad didn't want to call it a night. He still had all the energy in the world.

Maria yawned into her hands, the warmth from her mouth somewhat comforting. She could use an hour or two—or seven— of sleep. She hadn't gotten much shut-eye the last night because of her anticipation, and she greatly regretted how jumpy she'd been. Altair probably would have calmly accepted the fact that he'd run away and wouldn't return for a long time without wracking his brain with all the 'what if's'.

But it was _that _man's fault that she even left in the first place! If he didn't come skipping back into her life like a blasted performer that he was, she'd never had near heart-failure experiences! Or better yet, if he'd killed her in Jerusalem, she never would have fallen in love with him and slept with him.

But that was an experience she enjoyed on a personal level.

To conclude, she was in the right, and he was in the wrong. She was half Thorpe and half Ayars. Her pride would eventually kill her one day.

"Speaking of pride," she huffed as Shihad continued to toss his head around arrogantly. "Stop that, you deflated, fatless ass!"

She was about to smack the horse again, but grabbed hold of the reins as an intriguing sight caught her attention. She immediately made the horse's canter slow to a calm walk. Shihad's ears perked up and he flicked them back and forth as he sniffed the air. "Easy, boy," Maria breathed into his ear. She craned herself over his neck, her arms wrapped around him as she stroked his cheek. He snorted uneasily and began to sidestep.

Maria swung off of the saddle, her legs and lower back screaming from the sudden force of hitting the ground. She uttered a curse before taking Shihad's reins and leading him into the sparse bushes along the cliffside. What they saw confirmed what the novices had told her earlier, but by no means was this caravan 'just outside of Damascus'.

All around a campfire, men were speaking to one another, mind-altering drinks in their hands as their topics ranged from women, to 'business', to money, and then back to women. Maria's eyes narrowed as she recognized the slave trader with the fancy and prominent silk garments ushering his captives to the fire. But the fire was what was the worst of all.

The mutilated corpse of the mare she had admired only hours ago laid next to the fire, the legs completely gone and midsection torn open. The savages were sticking the hunks of fresh meat and cooking them over the fire. Maria almost gagged from the smell. If she didn't know what was being cooked, she probably would have said that the aroma was acceptable and appetizing, but this was awful.

Even though Shihad had proved to be as difficult as his owner, she still loved horses and felt something for the beast. She quickly stood in front of him and lowered his head into her torso. At least he wouldn't have to see the meat cooking.

Returning her gaze to the camp, her eyes widened when she realized just how many men there were. Twenty, maybe even over thirty. She heard the _chink _of money as transactions took place and coin traveled from man to man. And then came the grunts and screams of the slaves being hauled off to their new owners.

Maria rubbed Shihad's cheek as an attempt to not only calm him down, but also to keep her from screaming bloody murder and skewering each man alive.

Was this how it was like for Damiel when he was still in slavehood? How much damage did the word 'property' do to a person? Was it as bad as when Joseph declared her _his _wife and _his _woman and _his _pleasure? No, it was probably far worse. Marriage was one thing, but selling humans was another matter completely. She closed her eyes when she saw a young woman, newly purchased and probably a little older than Damiel but not as old as she, stripped of her clothes and thrown to the ground. A man quickly mounted her.

How much of this did Damiel see? This was _not _how people were supposed to act. This was how _animals _acted! Maria stared in horror as the man claimed the woman's virtue. The girl screamed and screamed, the pain he brought upon her irrelevant to his desires. No. Even animals did not perform intimacy like this. She wasn't even sure if this could be considered intimacy. It was more like dominance.

Maria was sure that she'd love to be anywhere else in the world at that moment, maybe even with _him. _She could very well live without the smell, the sights, Shihad's shaky breathing, the hand on her shoulder-

She nearly jumped out of her skin as she whirled around and threw a punch at the slaver. He stumbled, and she tackled him to the ground. Shihad stamped his hooves and gave a frightened neigh.

They rolled around together until Maria gained the higher ground. She slammed her fists into his face and throat, trying to render the man unconscious. He, however, seemed to know exactly what she was planning. He brought his knees up into her stomach, and just as quickly as she had tackled him, he was now atop her, pinning her down. He slammed her head into the ground and stars danced across her vision. The fury in his eyes was almost tangible as he bared his teeth at her, ready to kill her.

But his expression changed from anger to complete surprise as his eyes traveled down her form to her chest. He was pretty sure men did not have swells there. Maria let loose a battlecry and slammed her thigh into his crotch while her fist connected with his chin. He went flying backward into an already startled Shihad. The horse, seeing the body fall unconscious at his feet, reared up on his hind legs and ran as fast as he could away from the man.

Maria smirked when she saw the man cradle his precious gems, but her face was swept clean of the grin once she realized just what she'd gotten herself into.

All around her, the slavers stared at her, estimating the price she'd earn them in trade.

* * *

"Hold onto her— watch her hands! She's a slippery one!"

"Keep away from her face, she's trying to bite you!"

"Bring her here, that's it! Tie the woman up!"

"Don't let her get free, this is a Christian beauty we've got here!"

Maria grunted as she was slammed to the ground, her wrists tied together behind her back. One of the slavers, a rather large one, held her down while the other men bound her ankles together. She screamed and thrashed about, bringing her knees in and then shoving her feet into a face of a less fortunate man. She took some pride when she heard his nose crack.

Hands were everywhere on her. They were taking her sword off of her, searching her for coin and other weapons, turning her head this way and that to inspect her, opening her mouth to check her teeth and gums, feeling her legs and arms for muscles—

This was business. This was their trade. Fear held her as she desperately tried to squirm away from the men. Where did that bloody horse go? Part of her wished that he'd stayed, but the other half of her was glad that he escaped. Maybe he'd go and fetch some help for her, that'd be very much appreciated.

She was about to scream at the top of her lungs as images from Acre came to mind as one of the men began tugging at her clothes like a scavenger.

However, the need to scream was lost as a _thud! _caused the men to swivel around, losing interest in Maria very quickly as they gawked at the figure before them.

What appeared to be a Crusader soldier stood, clad in chainmail, in front of the corpse lying on the ground, his blood pooling out beneath him. The soldier calmly examined the slavers about him, measuring their skills and abilities, before his eyes turned over to the woman held captive on the ground. His head recoiled, perhaps out of recognition, but he had no time to let his mind wander over her as he did with the other men.

It was several seconds before the slavers took action. Some of them charged the soldier with their fists while most of them ran to their tents, brandishing weapons varying from daggers, swords, and bludgeons.

Maria's savior only bowed his head in acknowledgment of his opponents, and brought out the sword that claimed the first slaver's life. Maria lost sight of the man as the criminals swarmed her vision. She twisted her neck this way and that to try to have a better view of the fight. As far as she could hear, the soldier was winning. Voices from several different men cried out as the cold steel of the broadsword bit into their flesh.

Maria's eyes widened as one of the recently killed traffickers' body went tumbling down upon her. She threw her body to the side, squirming and rolling to avoid being crushed. The body crumpled beside her, his face a mask of horror. His cold hands were frozen for eternity to the gash running across his face, covering most of the wound. Maria crawled backward, avoiding another dead body falling to the ground. She stared admirably at the man dispatching the criminals so efficiently.

However, her state of awe came to an end when one of the slavers attempted to flank her rescuer. Practically crab-walking, she scooted closer to the coward of a slaver. Sending her legs out, she hoped that her blow to his calf would buy the soldier enough time to evaluate his position and end the other's life. The slaver yelped and stumbled to the side. Maria's newly found friend whirled his head in the direction of the flanker, and he quickly swung his sword at the man. The tip of his weapon slashed horizontally across his neck, sending his innards splattering to the ground and also onto Maria.

The woman didn't exactly appreciate being decorated with gore, and she let the soldier know that by narrowing her eyes at him and scowling. He seemed to be amused by this and gave a small shrug before turning his attention over to the other whelps.

Block, counter, kill, block, counter, kill, strafe, lunge. Who was this man, and why was he set on saving the slaves?

The final slaver left shook with fear and took small steps backward as the armored man approached him. Tripping over his own feet, he fell flat on his bottom and stared up into the eyes of his doom. He opened his mouth to plead with him, probably the worn out excuse of 'I have a family' was about to spill from his throat. The only thing that _did _spill from his throat, however, was his own blood as the final blow was dealt on the man.

Maria watched carefully from her position on the ground, attempting to tear her wrists free of the rope binding them. She cursed under her breath when she realized she cut herself on the thick and coarse material.

The soldier knelt beside the lifeless man he'd just killed and whispered a prayer before closing his eyes. He ran his sword along the dry and cracked earth, ridding it of the red liquid painting it. He then stood up from the ground and slowly approached Maria, the sword still gleaming brilliantly in his hand.

Maria stared in disbelief as he stood mere inches from her, his sword raised high above his head, ready to bring it down on her. Her eyes flickered between his sword and his helmet, but then she focused her gaze on his face. Or rather, the small amount of his face that was visible to her.

A weary, light blue eye stared down at her while the other was covered by a black cloth. Scraggly dirty-blonde hair peeked out from the sides of his helmet, accompanied by an equally dirty face. But he held no animosity for her in his face.

Was that... _relief? Recognition? And... gentleness?_

Breathing became harder and harder as her body refused to breathe.

_Impossible— it couldn't be... could it?_

_

* * *

_

Wowsas. Wonder who that could be. Hm hm hm. First one to guess it gets a cookie (not) XD

Translations:

_kibbeh labniyeh= _a Middle Eastern soup made of kibbeh with labaneh (yogurt) as the actual soup portion. Usually mint is added to it. It tastes amazing.

_Abgha hiyya, akh = _I want her, brother

_Meen? Hiyya? =_ Who? Her?

_Na'am, akh= _Yes, brother

_Lay ish? = _Why?

_Feloos, akh =_ money, brother

_Kum? = _How much?

_Yimken ashra... ashreen? =_ Maybe ten... twenty?

_Ba ad massa= _after evening (rough translation)

_Ghali= _expensive

_Yimken jameela = _maybe beautiful

_Falafel= _another type of Middle Eastern food


	19. Chapter 14

Guess who's back? :D ME! And Meadjean, and Christina, from their wonderful vacation. Well, not really. We didn't go on vacation, but we did have a girl's night out. Which was awesome.

Anyway, I bring you CHAPTA 14! We've got some fluffy stuff in here, some funny stuff, hmm let's see, let's see... Well, I don't want to spoil it for you. But next chapters will be cruel to Maria, there's gonna be some 'AWWW!' moments between her and Altair (omgoshikright?), some sad and tender moments, some more goofy stuff, some Benjamin stuff, some other stuff, you know.

And here's my question: should I have chapter names instead of just numbers? I've been debating that with my editors, and we're all stumped. Meadjean says DO IT! while Christina says NO! So, help me out here?

Kay, thanks, enjoy :D

* * *

"Benjamin?" Maria breathed out as her eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. She felt her mouth fall open as the man smirked, then brought his broadsword down upon her. Her eyes widened even further when the sword slashed down at her hands, cutting the rope holding her wrists together.

Baffled, she stared at her hands, hardly noticing that the man was now chuckling.

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he whispered humorously while shaking his head back and forth, "only you would be the woman to blindly walk into a trafficking camp."

Maria forced the corners of her gaping mouth to turn upward gracefully, but instead it turned out to look more like a grimace. She wordlessly accepted the hand he offered to her and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on his face, and without any warning, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest.

"Oh, Benjamin, it _is _you! You still have that moldy, wet smell to you!" She breathed in his scent and held him tighter. Chortling, he held her to him as he rocked back and forth on his heels. She sighed and rested her chin on his shoulder. "So much has happened, Benny, and loads of it terrible."

"Maria, my dear," he placed his hands on her shoulders and held her out from himself to address properly. "I want to know _everything_, love. But first, I'd very much like to know what you're doing out and about at night, and especially waltzing through such a dangerous place!"

She shrugged sheepishly and gave a small grin. "Ill fortune strikes many, it seems."

He sighed, not fully convinced that that was all there was to her reasons, but nodded nonetheless. "You're thinner than usual," he remarked when he gave her a quick once-over. "Has Damiel been pestering you about your weight again? The boy can be such trouble sometimes, I know."

Maria averted her gaze to the ground, frowning when she glanced over the dead slavers. "You've missed a lot, Benny. Damiel, he's... well, he's not here, obviously."

Benjamin furrowed his brow. "What do you mean— Maria!" He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist as her knees began to buckle underneath her, followed by her stomach growling. Swearing under her breath, she leaned against Benjamin as he escorted her to his mount. "When was the last time you ate anything—and what is that _smell?_"

Maria humphed and raised her nose in the air. "I've been eating on and off throughout the day, but not enough to substantially quiet my stomach. To answer your second question, _pardon me _if I am a woman, Benjamin."

He coughed at her last statement and glanced side to side uneasily. Rose would always badger him for wondering what was stinking up their house when it was her time. Maria was no different, apparently.

"Benny, w-wait," Maria huffed as he attempted to help her into the saddle. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she continued, "I've my own mount—somewhere."

Benjamin let his hands fall back to his sides and followed her as she stepped over the dead bodies in an attempt to find Shihad. Where did the blasted horse go?

She past several of the slaves, now free men and women again, and they each gave her grateful smiles. Benjamin muttered something unintelligent from not receiving the praise.

Maria was not about to go shouting for the horse. She'd look ridiculous doing that, and she still had some honor left to defend! Did Shihad know how to respond to verbal commands? Did Altair even take the time to properly train the beast to accommodate his profession? Shrugging, Maria decided it was worth a try. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she scrunched her lips together and whistled.

Her response was a shy neigh and the _click clock _of hooves against rock as a horse approached her. She held her ground until the beast was in front of her. He whinnied when he recognized her and pushed his muzzle to her chest. She involuntarily took a few steps backward from the impact, but recovered and ran her hand up and down his forehead.

"You are such a hypocrite," she lowly said when he began to affectionately nip her. "One moment you want me off the saddle, the next you're kissing up to me like some damn suitor." Shihad whickered gently and nuzzled her cheek.

Benjamin came over to her then, the reins of his own mount in his hand as he led the horse. "I take it this is your infamous steed, Maria?"

Shaking her head back and forth, she turned her head around to sneer at her friend. "Don't let his face fool you. He's a devil underneath all of it." Shihad took small steps toward Benjamin, smelling and smacking his lips against the man's palm when he held it out to him.

"Nonsense," he chuckled as the animal quickly won him over. "How can a fine, lovely horse such as this one be anything but loyal?"

"Loyal," Maria grumbled as Shihad's honey colored eyes blinked innocently. "Right." She made to pull herself up onto his back, but grunted as shocks of pain were sent up her legs. She planted her feet firmly back on the ground, and soon a hand was supporting her back.

"I take it a rough night isn't all that you've been through since I've been gone," he whispered sadly.

Maria closed her eyes and mumbled. He took that as a 'yes'. "You have no idea, Benny." She grabbed hold of a chunk of Shihad's mane as Benjamin hauled her up into the saddle by her waist.

"Now, just where do you think you're going?" Benjamin crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her when she began trotting off. "I didn't rescue you just so that you could go marching off into yet another situation! Maria!" He quickly threw himself on his own horse and urged the steed to catch up with his friend.

It wasn't that Shihad was galloping at full speed, he was still trotting and taking his sweet time. But Maria's posture clearly told Benjamin that she wasn't interested in hearing him through. Riding parallel to her, he secured his hand over her arm, forcing her to pull Shihad to a stop.

"Maria, for heaven's sake, listen to rea—"

"How _dare _you demand me to follow your orders!" she barked at him. He looked positively dumbfounded. "I've been planning this night out for hours, maybe even days! Don't you go telling me to calm myself down!" She groaned and slouched in the saddle, a cramp making itself known in her abdomen.

Benjamin sighed sympathetically and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps due to your condition, you should consider letting me handle things from here, hm?"

"My condition," she growled, "is none of your concern."

"Rose used to be the same exact way," he chuckled before removing his hand from Maria and grabbing Shihad's reins with it. He inclined his head when he saw Maria give a small, apologetic smile. "She was always yelling my ear off, complaining about how the house was a mess after she'd just clean it. The list goes on and on with the woman and her bleeding."

Maria closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Shihad's neck. "She must have made your life interesting," she mumbled.

Benjamin shrugged and casually replied, "I suppose she did. Although, sometimes she proved to be unbearable whenever she'd start craving certain foods. It was always something sweet. I know more than once she drained our honey and sugar supplies with her moods."

Maria quietly moaned and turned her head to look at Benjamin. Somehow the man had managed to slip a rope around Shihad's head and tied the end of it to his own saddle. "Benny?" she whispered.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"I'm glad you're here," she said softly. He smiled at this and brought his horse closer to Shihad to rub her back assuredly.

"I'll keep in mind that your hormones are talking," he chuckled before pulling his hand away from her. "I hope you're in good enough condition though," he thought to himself.

She quirked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"I sent Aden, Olivia, and Zaina to scout out Damascus for us. Apparently, Clarence has made himself quite comfortable there over the past week," he grumbled while rolling his eyes. "The man never fails to disgust me."

Maria bolted right up in her saddle, ignoring the protests her lower back made. She gawked at Benjamin, not believing what she was hearing. "Th-they're in _Damascus?"_

Benjamin bobbed his head up and down, not noticing her mouth gaping wide open. "Yes, they've been there for a few days now. They'll report back to me in a week or two."

She flapped her lips, searching for the right words to use. "B-but..! But they were captured!" _Weren't they?_

The veteran frowned at this and puckered his lips out. "Yes, they were, and they were damn lucky that I followed their captors, else Olivia would be missing fingers vital to the bow and arrow."

Maria shook her head free of her dazed state and crossed her arms stubbornly. "You mean to tell me that after Damiel and I saw them be taken prisoner, and when we saw that you were nowhere to be found, you actually _followed _them?"

Benjamin coughed and raised a disapproving eyebrow from her hellish behavior. She rolled her eyes. "And do you mean to tell me that you and Damiel did not go back into town to find the note that I had asked the innkeeper to give to you two? The note that explained my whereabouts and what my plans were?"

"What note? What _plans? _And you honestly expected me to go _back _to the town and speak to that innkeeper? First of all, that man was just sour and seemed to despise the human species—"

Benjamin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You recall how I said I have many sources here?"

"Yes," she humphed, "I remember."

"He was one of them, Maria—"

"He wouldn't even allow us to have rooms to ourselves!"

Sighing, Benjamin swept a hand across the back of his neck before calmly replying, "He only did that because he knew Templars were in the area, and if we were divided, what would that make of our strengths? We'd easily be picked off. Do you understand now?"

Maria dug her nails into the saddle and gave a sideways glare at Benjamin. "Lovely to know all of this _now."_

"I'm to blame for it, and you have my apologies, my dear." Benjamin squeezed her shoulder and offered her a friendly grin. "But enough of that. Where have _you _been all this time? I'd assumed Damiel would be with you."

Maria, albeit unwillingly, briefed Benjamin in on what had transpired in his absence. She covered how she and Damiel arrived at a disgusting town, how Damiel was captured, how Templars were looking for her, and how she had searched Acre for the boy without any luck. She did, however, not mention anything about her lover and his pitiful band of killers.

Benjamin listened intently, frowning and nodding his head here and there.

"I'm not sure what's become of him," Maria concluded sadly. "He could be in a cell for all I know."

"We will set out to look for Damiel then. The boy still has much to learn, and I'm afraid more scars will only discourage that."

Maria rested her head in her arms on Shihad's neck. "It's my fault, Benny. If I... if I didn't push him, he'd never—"

"Save it, Maria," the man gently told her. "No one could have predicted this to happen to him. You didn't know, you can't put all the responsibility onto yourself. That drives a person insane." When Maria's shoulders began to heave, he added in more firmly, "Sarah. I know that you love the boy. I do as well, and so does the entire Rose. But dwelling on the past can only bring ruin to the future. We will find Damiel."

She moaned.

"But first, I believe you need your rest more than anything." When she began to protest, he held a hand up. "I won't lug around an emotional lass to and fro cities, Maria. Now, don't you fret about it. I have a feeling that we're about to gain even more allies than what we originally have."

Maria tented her eyebrows together. "And whom might these allies be?"

Laughing, Benjamin dug his heels into his horse's side, calling over his shoulder, "Assassin's, my dear. Assassin's."

* * *

"Perhaps we should turn around and go to Damascus? Help the others out there, or, or or... begin our search for Damiel?" Maria tried desperately to change her friend's decision as she adjusted the stirrups on Shihad. They had finally found a decent spot under a tree that offered well needed shade, and Benjamin insisted that they halt their progress and rest. The man also reasoned since their makeshift camp was right next to a river, they'd be able to refill their waterskins.

To Maria, being near water only meant mosquitoes. An abundant amount of mosquitoes.

Waving a hand at her, he shook his head stubbornly and continued his task of cleaning new leaves for her in the river. "No, that'd only make them think that we have no faith in their abilities. Besides, we're halfway there. Turning around now would be foolish."

Maria groaned and smacked her forehead against Shihad's saddle. The horse, in turn, gave her a not-so-amused look—and was that a _growl?_

"Oh, come now, Maria!" Benjamin chuckled as he held out a handful of sanitized leaves. Maria snatched them from him and fisted out the bloodied ones from her shift. "Soon, we won't be sleeping on dirt and will actually have civilization around us. After all, you said yourself that you'd been camping in the outdoors for weeks in search for Damiel."

Another groan.

"And besides," he turned around so she wouldn't see his jolly smile, "you can actually use cloth instead of leaves once we arrive at Masyaf."

Maria slowly turned her head, a frown clearly imprinted on her fine features as she pointedly stuffed the new leaves into her undergarments. He was a lucky man that his back was to her, else her eyes would have burned his to a crisp.

"Now, if you're done with your whining and complaining, I suggest we make haste. The sun's almost halfway to its peak, and if we ride now, we'll make good time." Benjamin turned around once he heard her mount Shihad again, and he followed suit with his own horse. "I intend to make it there before midday."

Maria gave a sideways frown and allowed Benjamin to take the lead, even though she perfectly knew the way back to Masyaf. "I pray that we _never _make it there," she secretly said under her breath. Benjamin swung his head over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look, but she smiled sweetly and shrugged her shoulders in response. Slowly nodding his head, he returned his attention back to the Kingdom.

Maria blew out of her mouth and let her shoulders sag. '_What the Hell am I going to do?' _She fumed in her head for a couple of hours, debating if she should stealthily ride away with Shihad. It was a nice thought, but then the fact that Shihad would snort and draw unwanted attention to herself kicked in. No, that wouldn't work.

'_Maybe if I suddenly fall off of Shihad and begin chanting that Masyaf was a dangerous place to go to?' _She smirked from even thinking of herself babble senselessly in hopes to change that man's adamant mind. True, Shihad would probably curiously nuzzle her, and Benjamin would be absolutely perplexed, but it _could _work—

'_No, I'd look like a ninny.' _

Maria refused to admit to herself that her plan had just been sat on and squashed like Abu'l Nuqoud planting his great, holy behind on one of his lavish rugs. Why did God seem to throw her back to that idiot of a man? Not that she wouldn't mind being in his arms, or stealing a few kisses from him, or maybe even touching his manh—

'_What. Am. I. Thinking.' _She idly twirled Shihad's mane around her index finger and stared at her saddle. '_But could it possibly be so awful as to forgive? Maybe not forget, but to just accept an apology?' _

She let out a _hmph! _and crossed her arms around her chest, raising her chin into the air. '_Of course it'd be terrible! Not only would I be subjecting myself to him, but I'd be looking like a complete softie! A grandmother! A... a... NINNY!'_

"Now, Maria," Benjamin said in a calming voice, ripping her from her thoughts, "I know that we may encounter a fellow that we both know you don't exactly like once we reach Masyaf. But I want you to be on your _best _behavior. That means," he added in when he felt her roll her eyes, "there will be no foul language, no attitude problems, no menstruation attitude problems, no defending-your-pride attitude problems, no stubborn-ewe attitude problems—"

"I understand, Benny, I— did you just call me a female goat?" she demanded as her mouth flew open.

"Actually, I called you a female sheep. There is a difference between the two animals, Maria—"

"I _know _there's a difference!" she spat as she focused her laser-eyes on his back. "And I don't even have an attitude problem," she hissed sourly.

He snorted and rolled his shoulders. "I'm sure you don't, Maria dear. I'm sure you don't."

Maria lightly tapped the reins against Shihad's neck, and the horse galloped over to the cliffside to ride parallel to Benjamin. "I _don't_."

"Oh, I believe you— Sarah, watch out!"

* * *

"He looks a bit tense, no?"

"I'd wager a little more than that."

"You're both wrong, he obviously ate something that didn't agree with him."

The three novices scratched their chins in wonder as they stared at their Master who was perched on top of the ramparts.

"I wonder if we never should have let that woman go beyond our territory," one of them chuckled nervously. "I can't help but to think that this is all _our _fault."

The other scowled and shook his head at his Brother. "No, Mustafa, you always look into these things too much. We were simply being polite was all."

"Yes, Nabil is right, Mustafa. A little stroll in the night never did anyone harm," the third one agreed. The boys both sighed, wondering if what they said was even true.

Mustafa cleared his throat. "Well, what should we do? I saw Hildegard just an hour ago, meaning that Hildegard never left, but instead, _his _woman left."

Nabil frowned and stared deeply in thought at his boots. "We did _nothing _wrong, though—"

"Perhaps we should tell the Master? What if she went to Damascus? We were fools by telling her the danger there! What if she gets herself hurt or captured?"

"Rakin has a very good point," Mustafa sighed. "Maybe we should just tell Master Altair what we did. I'm sure he'll understand, even if he'll be angry with us."

Nabil grunted and shook his head yet again. "No, what you mean is that the Master will likely tear our throats out! _His woman, _Mustafa! The love of his life—"

"Out there, somewhere, starving half to death," Rakin sobbed. "She could be a slave now for all we know! Trafficking has increased so much over the year!"

"Oh, will you quit your bellyaching? The Master will hear us if you keep it up!" Nabil clicked his tongue and raised his hand in the air.

"Speaking of the Master, where did he go?" Mustafa squinted beneath his hood and stood on his toes. "He isn't on the ramparts anymore."

"That's because he's coming _right toward us!" _Rakin squeaked in sheer terror. Sure enough, when the two other boys turned their heads where Rakin was looking, a figure garbed in black robes was gaining in on them.

* * *

Maria leapt out of her saddle and rolled on the ground just as men assaulted from above on the cliffside.

"There are more of them in the bushes!" Benjamin yelled as he pulled his broadsword from its sheath. Tightening his legs around his mount, he charged at their pursuers and made a clean swipe at one of the bandits.

Maria struggled to her feet, but then flung herself at the ground once more, barely avoiding a blade to her chest. The throwing knife hit the cliffside with a _chink! _as it was snapped in two. Pulling out her own sword, she scrambled backward as another bandit catapulted himself in front of her. The man, with stringy dark hair nearly covering his entire face, bared his rotten and brown teeth at her.

Maria returned the gesture before pulling herself back onto her feet. She lunged at him with her sword, and he blocked it with his dagger. With his free hand, he pulled yet another knife from his boot and flung it at her. She gritted her teeth as the knife grazed her arm. Applying more pressure to her blade, she took a step closer to the man and brought her foot to his shin. With his balance wavering, he tripped backward, giving her enough time to bring her sword down upon his skull.

She yelped when she felt something dig into her leg. Without sparing a glance at her injury, she dropped to the ground and pulled the blade out of her flesh. She saw the brigand draw his sword to charge her through like a kebab. She waited until his sword was a hair's width from her before twisting her body and digging his own throwing knife into his neck. He fell to the ground in a gurgle of his own blood.

Limping, she tried her best to regroup with Benjamin. He was handling three of the villains at once, and was doing a fine job of it. It was her own well-being that she feared for. When she heard footsteps scampering closer to her in the dirt, she turned around just in time to see her attacker leap at her, dagger high in the air. She readied her own blade, but to her benefit, Shihad chose that moment to take action. She could hear his hooves pound the earth as he rammed into the bandit, knocking the man and his weapon to the ground.

The horse reared up, and brought his forelegs down onto the man several times before he was satisfied he'd killed him. If she wasn't in pain, she might have thought it to be full of humor and wit. However, she hobbled on one leg over to where Benjamin was standing with over three dead bodies surrounding him.

"Is that all of them?" she hoarsely asked, stopping to clutch her calf.

He kept his eyes on the cliff, waiting for any movement. Convinced that the robbers had been dispatched of, he quickly jogged over to Maria and wrapped an arm around her waist. He laid her down on the soil, removing her boot to assess her injury.

"You're lucky you were wearing a boot, young lady," he sighed before tearing a piece of cloth from his own tunic to use as a makeshift bandage, "otherwise this would have been much more severe."

"Will I live?" she brusquely asked. He stole a glance at her eyes, then nodded his head. "Good."

He helped her back up, her arm slung around his shoulder as he whistled lowly for their horses. Both animals came trotting up to them, Shihad more than curious as to why she was wounded. He blew gently at Maria, and she lightly pet his muzzle.

"Up you go," Benjamin grunted as he lifted her into the saddle. "God, you are too light for a woman your age."

"I'll add that to my list of flaws. Anything else, Benjamin?" she grounded out. He innocently raised his hands in the air and swung his legs onto his own saddle before leading them again.

Frowning, he stared up at the cliff, not pleased with how quiet it was. "We need to move faster. Maria, are you in a decent enough shape?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped at him. "God Almighty, you think I can't handle riding a horse?" She didn't give him time to continue, for she whipped the reins against Shihad. More than willingly, he bolted and burst into a blur of motion. Benjamin was close behind them.

"How is it you know the way?" he called to her.

She leaned forward in the saddle and shouted over her shoulder, "Women's intuition!"

* * *

Hildegard sighed and scratched Bayo behind the ear. The dog thumped his leg and looked up appreciatively at the woman sitting at the dining table. Smiling to herself, Hildegard shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose that man was right after all, Bayo," she mused aloud. "Maria seems to be missing in action. More importantly," she huffed, "she left _me _here!"

Bayo stood and shook his fur. He whimpered and rested his head on Hildegard's lap. "No, don't give me that look, boy. Why am I even speaking to you? You'd defend Maria no matter what."

He mustered up his cutest, most innocent look possible. Hildegard narrowed her eyes. "Don't even try it, dog."

He whined sadly.

Sputtering, she pushed the chair back and rose. "Look at this! Here I am, not doing anything when my best friend is out there somewhere! No, wait, I _am _doing something! I'm talking to an animal! An animal that cannot even comprehend what I'm saying!"

Bayo growled at this and stamped his paw. Hildegard sighed and knelt down to his level, cupping his chin in her hand. "No offense of course, boy. And no, I don't blame you for her missing. I'm sure you would have helped us sniff her out if you were feeling up to it." She smiled softly and stood up from the floor. "Speaking of finding her, where did that irritable man go anyway?"

Bayo blinked, then sulked off, obviously not interested in her babbles. Hildegard sighed and plopped her bottom back into her chair, her elbows on the table and head in her hands. "Oh, what am I going to do?" she groaned out. "I'm stuck here now, not a chance in the whole world to see my friends again. I'm... I'm a prisoner, for God's sake! Captured against my will unknowingly!"

She slowly slid her head to the table and knotted her fingers in her hair. "What did I do to deserve this? This is punishment for Clarence's idiocy, isn't it?"

She sat at the table groaning to herself for quite some time, eventually falling into a light snooze. However, a commotion in the fortress' foyer had her bounce out of her chair and hit the floor on her side. Peeking her head up, she looked back and forth.

"I wonder what this is all about?" Huffing, she grabbed hold of the table's edge and heaved herself up. "This'd better be good."

* * *

"Maria, you need to slow down!" Benjamin hoped to God and Heaven that she heard him. "Maria, if they see you charging at their fortress, they'll kill you!"

Snorting, Maria pulled on the reins, her voice low and calming in Shihad's ear. "Easy, whoa, boy, whoa." Shihad slowed to a gentle trot, and Maria pat his slick neck a few times in praise. He whinnied, and soon Benjamin and his own horse were trotting alongside them.

"Their outpost is just up ahead, through the pass there." He pointed ahead of them, and she nodded in dread confirmation.

"And how exactly do you know all of this, Benny?" She bit the inside of her lip and anxiously stared in front of them at the top of the two cliffs where they almost joined as one.

"I'm more accustomed to Assassin's than you think I am," he coolly replied. "Sarah, don't keep your head down," he chided once they were underneath the pass, "they may assume the worst from you."

Maria made a sound from the back of her throat and did her best to not slouch in her saddle. '_Oh, no, no no no no no no...'_

Her eyes wandered over to the viewpoint beside her. She could see Assassin's climbing higher like possessed animals to gain better ground and to have a more precise vigil. She gulped and tugged on her hood. She didn't like all these eyes on her.

And she especially didn't like that one novice gawking at her. She furrowed her brow at him beneath her hood. He hopped onto his own horse, and sped quickly away to the city.

"Benny, I think... we should turn back now," she whispered when men began to approach them. Benjamin shook his head and swung himself off his horse.

He gave a small bow of his head in greeting, as did the other Assassin's. They kept their hands near their swords and other weapons.

"We've come to gain an audience with your master," Benjamin said smoothly with a kind smile. "Please, grant us this one wish, and we promise to not pester you and your people with our presence."

They slowly nodded, easily recognizing the woman behind the man. "You've returned," one of the Assassin's said. Benjamin immediately whipped his head around to stare at Maria. He slowly frowned, then sighed.

She felt positively humiliated. She knew that her face was red with shame, and if it wasn't for her hood, she would have looked like the inside of a pomegranate. She tucked her chin to her collarbone and slid in her saddle. The accusing and heartbroken look Benjamin was giving her burned her insides with guilt.

She wanted to apologize, but the words would not come out. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed to be led back into the city.

And what a welcome she got.

There were sighs from all of the Assassin's she past, most likely from relief. The Master's woman was back, they would not be buzzing around with anticipation and energy, and could return to their training. Perfect.

Perfect for all but one person.

Maria stared at the fortress looming high in the distance. Could he see her from here? She wanted the earth to swallow her whole, or miraculously float away from it all. Oh, God, she couldn't do this. She just ran away, and now to return with a hurt leg, a broken pride, a disappointed father, and with her stolen equipment? She felt as if Embarrassment was just waiting to pounce on her again.

She had long since dismounted Shihad, and he was now at the stables again. She bit her bottom lip as her feet stepped in Benjamin's tracks. He was lugging his saddlebag over his shoulder, and to her, it looked as if whatever it was holding was about to burst the bag. Normally, she'd be curious, but now she was little more than humiliated and defeated.

Benjamin's back was as straight as a board, obviously very aware of her untruthful confessions. He occasionally threw her concerned and upset glances over his shoulder.

"I expect a full explanation in the future, Maria."

She flailed her lip from hearing his tone so menacing and betrayed. She didn't want to be considered a traitor, especially by Benjamin. She didn't really lie, she only told a half-truth. There was a difference, wasn't there?

Their escorts didn't stop at the courtyard's gate. They brought them straight through the courtyard and into the fortress' foyer. Too many eyes were boring into Maria's back, and she didn't even have to look to know that the Assassin's were shaking their heads at her. To them, she was a woman: a piece of property. And by running away, she stole property from her man.

She hung back outside of the foyer as Benjamin stepped in. Her escorts gave her puzzled looks, but didn't question her action. She braced herself with a gulp of air and kept her gaze to the dusty floor. The Assassin's filed in front of her, behind Benjamin, and also took places beside her, probably to make sure she wouldn't bolt like a frightened horse.

* * *

Altair raised his hand to silence the sobbing Mashhur, the boy's speech incomprehensible due to his wheezing and panting. Honestly, can a little run up to the fortress really steal someone's breath?

"They're... man and woman, Master... _yours... _in the city..."

Altair frowned, then shot a glance at the three novices standing off to the side in his study. Rakin's face was red and swelled, as if he was holding back tears. Nabil looked stubborn to admit that he was guilty of letting Maria out of the city, while Mustafa was shooting a sideways glare at his friend for being so adamant. They'd just survived—barely—the Master berating them for their error. He had reduced the boys to little piles of hummus.

The Master turned his gaze away from the boys once he heard multiple people enter the foyer. With Mashhur's report confirmed, he stood from his desk and descended the stairwells, not saying a word to the boys.

And also not seeing Mashhur's infuriated face for being discarded so quickly in conversation. His look was not ignored by Mustafa, however, who narrowed his eyes at him. Mashhur was a sneaky one—no, he was _slippery. _The novice's gut told him that he was not to be trusted.

Altair stepped down into the foyer, his face mostly covered by his hood. The man before him, with dirty and slightly soiled blonde hair, inclined his head out of respect. Altair did not respond to his gesture, only kept his posture still and tall. Usually intimidation worked best with unwelcome visitors, but the Englishman proved not to be unnerved in the least bit. If anything, he seemed to approve of his stance. This had the Assassin frown beneath his hood. Who was this man to judge his actions?

"Grandmaster of the Hashashin," the stranger's accent clearly told all he was of European origins, "please accept my most humble apology for intruding in such a manner." He bowed from the waist up, causing one of Altair's eyebrows to quirk. "Normally, I'd have sent a letter or a courier to inform you of my visit. But circumstances are far from normal."

"And how, I demand, are they not mundane?"

The soldier seemed to hesitate from looking behind him at the woman obscured from Altair's view. "I was hoping that you'd be able to tell me that, seeing as how those I trust deem me unworthy of the truth."

The Assassin smirked at this, taking some pride in that he was to be considered superior by this man. '_Good. If he knows what's best for him, he'd do well to stay his assertions.'_

"I care little for what woes have plagued you. Speak of why your presence is in my city, good man, else I will be sure to remove it."

The veteran nodded his head. "I seek an alliance, Master Assassin, between your brotherhood and mi—"

"What's all this?"

Both men turned their heads toward the woman trotting down the staircase. She gave fleeting looks to all the Assassin's at presence, then froze in her tracks once she caught sight of the man in the midst of all of them. Her mouth flew open, as did his when recognition was shared between them.

"_B-Benjamin?"_ She ran past Altair, nearly knocking the man out of her way as she charged at her friend. The Assassin's seemed flustered by her outrageous performance, including Altair himself.

"Hildegard?" he chuckled nervously as he returned the embrace. He didn't know whose hugs were worse: Maria's or Hildegard's.

"Oh, thank God and all the angels!" she cried as she held him tighter. "You've come to get me out of this place! Oh, Jesus must love me today!" She pulled away from him when he gave an embarrassed cough. "I've so much to tell you, so many, many things! You've no idea how long I've been imprisoned in this jail of a fortress! My trip here, the people I've met, Maria—and _oh, definitely _Maria!"

Benjamin smiled, but it was far from friendly. It was a forced and shadowed smile. "Yes, you _do _have a lot to tell me, now, hmm? Perhaps you can start with why you left England without telling anyone. Or, maybe you can tell me what _she_," he gave a dangerous and heart-stopping glare over his shoulder, "failed to tell me before setting foot in here. Maybe save me some more humiliation in front of an entire fortress!" he barked.

Hildegard shrunk away from him, not used to his voice raising in such a way. Well, he usually yelled at Aden or Damiel, but never to her or—

"Maria?" She looked past Benjamin, and sure enough, there was the woman, cowering behind a group of Assassin's. Hildegard rolled her eyes. "So, she's been just as equally stubborn with you, Benny?"

He grunted. "Immensely so. To the point where I question where her loyalties lie."

Hildegard easily moved past the Assassin's, knowing most of them by name already. "When are you going to say it's enough, Maria?" she sighed as she stood in front of her. "How much longer are your games going to last?"

The other woman chose silence over words and let her looks do all the speaking for her. The blonde woman only snorted and shoved her shoulder. Maria took an involuntary step backward, steadying herself with her injured calf. She groaned and gnashed her teeth together. Hildegard stopped, stunned by her reaction, but was pushed backward as another person moved toward Maria.

"Are you hurt?"

Maria tried to stand on both feet without favoring her leg, but that only had her wince. "I'm fine," she lied through her teeth.

Altair, being unconvinced, paused. If he offered her an arm to support her, she'd probably snarl and lash out at him, either with words or by force. Then again, if he didn't help her, she'd be insulted. '_You once again prove to be impossible, Maria.'_

He shrugged his arm toward her. He felt rigid and tense as he saw her eyes gleam furiously at him. He didn't see that Benjamin was staring thoughtfully at him, then looking at Hildegard for an answer. Hildegard only wagged her eyebrows up and down, then gave him a knowing smile. Benjamin mouthed an 'ahh, I see', then continued to evaluate the Rose's lover. He seemed to approve rather quickly.

Maria raged and screamed swears in her mind as she accepted the man's arm. It instantly wrapped around her waist, allowing her to lean her weight against him. The pressure on her calf decreased greatly, leaving only a nagging pain. It also allowed her to slouch a bit, her lower back's cramps subsiding somewhat. She felt her face redden with humiliation and anger, particularly when he held her tighter for a better grip.

Altair led her to the middle of the foyer, stopping only to give Hildegard and Benjamin suspicious looks. He could have sworn there was a silent conversation passing between them that involved him and Maria. He cleared his throat, then addressed the new man. "Forgive my earlier hostility. I was not aware of your involvement in their faction," he motioned to the woman in his arm and to Hildegard.

Benjamin nodded and shrugged in understanding. "I have no blame toward you. This is your territory, and I respect that." Altair tented his eyebrows in approval, knowing that he'd soon grow to trust this man.

"Mustafa, Rakin, Nabil!" On command, the three novices came slowly to attention, still distraught about their discipline. "See to it that our guest is provided for." The boys repressed a groan, their already paltry rank reduced even further. "That means a bath, food, and a proper bed," Altair smirked when he saw the annoyed look from Nabil. He didn't normally enjoy punishing his Brothers, but he was a man that enjoyed earning such amusing looks from people.

* * *

"Well, this is rather unexpected," Hildegard chuckled as the other Assassin's, besides the three novices, classified Benjamin as a friend and filed out to return to their previous tasks.

Benjamin shrugged again. "It could have resulted far worse than it did," he mused aloud.

"For who? You, or Maria?" Hildegard laughed when Benjamin struggled to keep a grin off his face. "You sly weasel! You're giving her a taste of her own antics, aren't you?"

"My dear, I do not enjoy appearing as a fool in front of others. I'm merely..." he paused, thinking of the proper term, "exposing her to what it means to be humble in another's presence, especially when that person is the law and order of the territory."

Hildegard sneered as they followed the novices to the bathhouse. "So, what do you think of him?"

"Hm?" The corners of Benjamin's mouth twitched as he feigned innocence. Hildegard struggled to not smack his arm. "Oh, you mean her... acquaintance? Well, he's a rather... suitable man, I suppose you could say. A bit quiet, a little too possessive, maybe, but maybe not. He's... tall and obviously knows how to show it, too."

The novices curled their lips into their mouths as they tried not to chuckle at his words. It felt good to hear such talk of the Master when they had just been scolded.

"It'd be nice if I saw his face, though," Benjamin said gruffly. "Did she fall for him while wearing the hood, or did she actually see his head before Acre?"

Hildegard snorted and stopped once they reached the bathhouse. "I think you've demoralized her enough, don't you think?"

Benjamin, who most likely could win an award for having the most mysterious and devious smirk, casually commented, "Oh, don't worry, Hildegard. You'll have your share sooner or later."

* * *

It was quiet as he gently guided her to the infirmary. He didn't know what to say to her, or if he should even speak to begin with. He frequently stole glimpses at her. She was tired and there were streaks of dirt on her face and clothes. Her hair was coming out of her bun and braid, which he half hoped would. It was so pretty down...

He had his expression covered by his hood, not that he'd actually have a notable face on. He was expressionless as they walked, the only thing giving away his discomfort was how hard his jaw was. Hildegard was right. How long were her games going to last? He'd have to keep an eye on her to make sure another crazy idea didn't go through her head. She'd be quick to notice his lookout on her, though, and probably confront him about it. But even if she didn't, he had other responsibilities to tend to. It couldn't always be Maria that he'd be watching over.

No, he wouldn't keep an eye on her _directly. _He'd put a stop to these games once and for all.

At last reaching the infirmary, he contemplated whether or not to ask for Asiya's help. His decision was quickly made when he remembered how she had handled Maria previously. He'd think of something to tell the healer if she noticed someone else had patched up a wounded patient. He had a different job for Asiya...

There was a small pause in their progress as he pushed open a door and ushered Maria inside. Her eyes were closed and she was leaning heavily on him.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump..._

He had such a nice heartbeat...

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump..._

Altair, thinking that she was slowly losing the energy to stay awake, quickened his stride to one of the beds.

_Thump-thump..._

It was like a lullaby...

He helped her lie down on the small bed, noticing that her face twisted in a scowl as he did so.

No more lullaby?

He gathered a bowl of clean water with a towel soaking in it, as well as salve and bandages. She stared him down with icy grey as he sat on the bedside. He ran his hands up her leg to the hole in her boot where the bandit's knife had punctured. He bent her leg so his job would be easier for the both of them. Peeving the fire-breathing dragon, as Malik had put it, would not be wise.

Maria, obviously not in the mood for the man's presence due to his disposition and also for the fact that this time of month was not enjoyable, reached over and tugged his hood back, grabbing him by the front of his robes and pulling him to her.

"I don't need you smirking and rolling your eyes from beneath that cloth," she growled at him. "I know it's a small wound, you needn't ridicule me because of it."

He blinked at her, his face calm as he gave a firm push to her shoulder. Her back hit the bed once more and he carefully slid her boot off. "I don't need you looming over me, Maria."

She scoffed and folded her arms over herself. "I could have dealt with it myself."

He bit the inside of his cheek and rolled her pants up to her knee and unwrapped the makeshift bandage around her calf. If she was going to be difficult, then so would he. A difficult Assassin, the _Master of Assassin's, _was not a person to be trifled with. "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, it's so! I don't need pampering or special treatment from _anyone _here..." She barked on and on, defending her pride as he examined the injury.

'_How were you even able to walk, woman?'_ His brow furrowed as he assessed the wound. It wasn't fatal, but it most certainly looked painful. He took the cloth out of the basin and dabbed at the blood slowly oozing from the puncture. She was too busy snarling and writhing at him to notice the painful sting the cold water brought her.

"And to emphasize the point where you are a complete and total _shit, _may I say—no, why am I even asking for permission? I _demand _that you jump off the highest tower ever created into the concrete waiting below!"

He glanced at her as he rubbed the ointment onto the wound. He had almost forgotten how cranky and volatile she was when it was her time. Whenever she bled, she was prone to snap and chew a person's head off, usually at the closest person available, meaning him. How confused and frustrated he was on their voyages before he realized she meant no harm!

Her head was turned to the side, staring at the farthest wall as she none too pleasantly told him what he should do with himself. He was positively amused and thankful that she could not see his smirk or glittering hazel eyes.

He finished bandaging the wound and placed his chin atop her knee. She was too preoccupied with her colorful language to notice the soft and feathery kisses he placed on the flesh. He stopped his affectionate assault when one of his hands wanted to pull her pants' leg farther up. The corner of his mouth rose as he rolled the cloth higher.

Now, that was better. Even though there was a scar here and there, he couldn't help but to appreciate the view.

Would it be possible if he just tugged a little more out..? He prided himself in stealth, and it'd be a nice challenge...

There. He fiddled with the clip between his fingers, glaring at it. So this was the little culprit that always held her hair up. He pocketed it into one of his pouches, then looked her over.

How could a person be so beautiful when yelling?

He turned and walked out of the infirmary, convinced she hadn't even noticed, and completely satisfied with his work. Now, to find Asiya...

"And _finally, _I would like to say without your idiotic, bone-headed, sour, and horrendous remarks, _thank you._" She blinked when she didn't get a reply and sat up. The bowl of water, the bandages, and the herbal creams were nowhere to be seen. There wasn't even a trace that he was even in the room. She stared at the door as her fingers traced over her bandaged leg, then traveled up to her knee.

It was tingling, and she lightly felt the small wet trail on the skin. '_He didn't... did he? No, he couldn't have had... but he... he did...'_

Her face blossomed into a scarlet so red she put strawberries to shame. She looked down at herself, noticing that her britches were pulled up to the middle of her thighs on _both _legs. Far too much skin was exposed for her liking. That, and both of her boots were gone, not even on the floor.

'_Damn that man!'_ She ran a hand through her hair, finding it loose and not held up anymore. Her eyes blazed a wonderful grey-blue as she dug her nails into the bedsheet. '_Damn him to Hell's gates!'_

_

* * *

_

Maria woke later in the afternoon, deciding that a nap would do her good. She stretched her limbs out, groaning in pleasure, and surveyed her surroundings. She was no longer in the infirmary, but back in her previous room that she'd occupied before she ran away. She stood from the bed, shrieking for two reasons. As the sheets fell from her body, she realized she was completely _bare, _except for the cloth covering her lower region. For once, she was glad that she was a woman and experienced monthly bleeding.

The other reason was that another person was in the room.

She whirled around, gathering the sheets in her hands to cover herself as she stared at the woman standing in the doorway, holding a dress. She was no one Maria had ever seen, which gave her all the more reason to glare at her. She was a stout and big woman, broad shouldered and taller than herself.

"Master want you wear dress." She forced the dress into Maria's arms, along with a belt. It was a beautiful piece of work, the metals imitating the colors of her eyes wonderfully.

Maria shook herself from her state of awe. She firmly swiveled her head back and forth. "I refuse to wear such a thing." She held the garment back out to her.

The bigger woman huffed and pushed it back to her. "What Master says is law. You obey Master, you wear dress."

"I'll wear my other clothes," Maria growled at her. "If you'd be so kind to give them to me—"

"Those clothes burned, no more than ash." Maria's mouth flew open from the news and she stared accusingly at the woman. "No more fuss, wear dress."

Maria wasn't given an opportunity to turn _her _to ash, as Asiya walked out of the room, slamming the door shut. The hinges practically broke from the impact. Maria screamed out of frustration and stared at the dress in her shaking hands.

"Bastard didn't even give me bindings..!" She frowned and rifled through the dress, finding a long strip of cloth. It was the same material her shirt was made out of—it _was _her shirt! "You son of a whore!" She tossed the gown on her bed and paced her room.

It was a _dress. _A _dress. _She hadn't worn a dress, besides the servant's wear she wore when she first awoke in Masyaf, in years! And _now, _she was being forced back into the confining stitches of one because of a _man! THAT _man!

She half-heartedly wrapped the bindings around her breasts, almost choking herself with how tight they were. She swore repeatedly under her breath, pulling the dark blue dress over herself and smoothing it down. It wasn't ugly, it was far from it, in fact. Dark or neutral colors suited her the best, and blue was one of her colors. "That cur..."

She fumbled with the belt, the metal discs clinking together as she tried to secure it around her waist. It was a little large on her and fell to the swell of her hips, but it was a nice touch. She took a look at herself in the mirror, not exactly repulsed by what she saw. The dress fit her nicely, and though she didn't look like a woman ready for battle, she didn't appear to be a helpless, fawning and meek housewife. That, and the sleeves were quarter-length. Though she wasn't picky with her dresses, she did appreciate sleeves in between long and short.

But on further observation, the neckline was... questionable. It didn't flaunt the curves beneath the material, but it certainly showed a bit of her shoulders and her collarbone. "On second thought, damn him to a Templar headquarters. Without weapons."

Mumbling incoherent phrases to herself, she opened her door to come face to face with Asiya once more. The burly woman threw a pair of slippers at her feet. "I suppose if I refuse to wear these, you'll argue."

Asiya grunted, her nearly black eyes hardening. "You wear them."

"Go company brothel girls, prick," Maria muttered as she stepped into the slippers. When Asiya remained standing in front of her, hands on her wide hips, Maria sighed exasperatingly. "What will you torment me with next?"

"Dinner with the Master."

"Excuse me?"

"You eat dinner with Master tonight."

Maria's laugh was accompanied by a dubious look. "You expect me to comply to such a request? I will _not _eat in the presence of your pitiful master. Now, be a good dog and go back to him to tell him that."

Asiya slowly shook her head. "You eat with him, or you eat nothing."

"I prefer nothin—"

"And you dance the way of our people, wearing nothing but shift, in front of Master. Privately."

Maria's face paled as Asiya continued. "And you offer him wine and food, but not from fork or hand. You place food on you and he eats, with blindfold on you."

Maria absorbed this threat, as it obviously was, and slowly swallowed. "You jest, correct?"

"No."

She slowly nodded, then whispered, "Take me to dinner, then." There was _no way _she was pleasuring that man. No, no, and _no. _Not in a thousand years, or thereafter. And she most certainly would not belly-dance in her undergarments, locked in a room with his eyes gazing on exposed flesh! She wouldn't display herself and feed the man with her body being the plate!

She'd have to endure dinner.

* * *

Mashhur groaned to himself as he rubbed his forehead. It was all going so well until she decided to come back to Masyaf. By God, why did the woman have to be so fickle? He'd have to write yet another letter to Clarence and annoy the man further. And Clarence's annoyance would probably reach Tagvoryan, and then Tagvoryan would never allow him to leave Syria. He'd be stationed in this outpost forever!

Not to mention, Benjamin was here as well. That wasn't good—it was far from good. He was a threat, and the Assassin's quickly accepted him. Weren't these people supposed to be suspicious of _everything? _Just because he was a part of Maria's faction, that gives him leave to waltz right in here? These Assassin's made no sense!

And then there were those three novice boys: Mustafa, Rakin, and Nabil. They weren't demoted, but they were temporarily suspended from their training, meaning they'd be around him more than necessary. He didn't need any more Assassin's poking their noses into his business. The men at the outpost already were suspicious of him. So what if he appeared to be a wet washcloth. It was all an act, couldn't they see that?

They probably did, but chose to ignore it and not admit that one of their Brothers was so weak.

Mashhur hastily wrote his letter. The others were dining. He could hear them laugh and yell with one another. They were all so closely knitted whenever he wasn't around. He knew that once he joined them, it'd grow silent and they'd content themselves with small talk.

'_Their loss in the end,' _he thought smugly. Soon Clarence would raid the place, as he already supplied the man with a map of the fortress inside and out, along with any hidden routes underground. Assassin's were clever with their architecture. There were three tunnels that ran beneath the water surrounding Masyaf that eventually led to the Bureaus in Jerusalem, Damascus, and Acre, but were only to be used during emergencies. Well, an emergency would happen soon, but the tunnels would be set ablaze. Such a pity.

He puckered his lips as he read his letter. All he had said was that Maria was in Masyaf again. Should he concern Clarence with Benjamin's presence? Would it please Clarence to know of this? He didn't want to risk upsetting him; he could be a dangerous man if irritated. After all, what could one person even do? Benjamin wouldn't even tip the scale, he had nothing to worry about.

He watched as the eagle flew in the sky, carrying his report. He'd have to lie low for a while until his comrades arrived. He could picture the army proudly marching in and bringing down Masyaf, the Templar banner waving gloriously in the sky, the screams from the Assassin's as they were mercilessly slaughtered. It'd be a victorious day for the Templar's, and a day Mashhur hoped would be within the next month, if not sooner.

* * *

To **DimitrilovesRosalovesdimitri: **Hmm, will Altair and Maria have a happy ending? Well, they'll certainly be happy, but will the ending of this be happy? It's... complicated. You'll see, sooner or later :)

To **EmilieCW-DXfan0119: **That means a lot to me for you to say that, it really does. I know that there are a handful of Altair/Maria fics on this site, some of them that I enjoy a lot. Thank you :)

To **Panda: **lol I know this may sound awful, but I enjoy leading my readers on and then CRUSHING THEM LIKE GRAPE! :D!

To **Hyarou: **I'll keep that in mind whenever I write from an animal's perspective, thanks for the heads-up!

To **Bloutjie **and **Shinigamivc:** Thank you both for staying with this story, and I hope you two didn't fall off of your seats while waiting for this chapter XD

To **Arkbird7:** I personally love to manipulate a story. I know it seems that they aren't going to end up together, but hey, it's Altair and Maria. Trust me, they be endin' up together in hot and steamy ways.


	20. Chapter 15

**UPDATE TO LOVING HATE: OVER TIME, I WILL BE REDOING CHAPTERS UP TO CHAPTER 9. I'm not happy with the way my writing was at the beginning of the fic to the point where I roll my eyes and vent very loudly about how childish it sounds. And I've been aware from the start that yes, my time frames are way off. There is no way that it only takes about a week to get from England to Syria. My editors and I were aware of this, but we had some fun in writing it like that, even though it probably had whoever noticed it mutter some bad language. What can I say? Apparently The Rose invented a super jet-boat to get from point A to B in a few days. Ah well. That's the only time I'm allowing myself to get away with such a bad schedule like that.**

Well. I am currently SNOWED IN and not liking it. I look outside, whaddo I see? WHITE. EVERYWHERE! It's beautiful, but it is COLD. ICE. RAIN. EW. So, being snowed in, I decided to write another chapter since I've nothing better to do. Okay, I lied. I slept in for like 4 extra hours, and then I wrote it XD That, and I'm probably having my fifth cup of hot cocoa. Woe is me.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft. If they belonged to me, I'd put in way more Altair/Maria scenes in the game. That'd be nice, Ubi, just heheheh... consider that. Please. :D

Decided not to put chapter names. 'Cause I'm too lazy to think of a title for each chapter, and **Panda **has a good point with her review. And **Maki-San**, I'm sure I butchered my Spanish in here ^^; Sorry!

ENJOY! And tell me what you think, of course.

* * *

Maria snarled and smacked the hands away from her person that were trying to run a comb through her tangled hair. The women, looking more than irritated, quickly regrouped and tried again, much to Maria's dismay. The Englishwoman leapt from the floor and bolted to the door, finding the bull-sized Asiya blocking her way once again.

"Out of my way, you hound!" Maria screeched at her when she realized charging through the woman simply wouldn't work. Asiya grunted, then pushed Maria back into the clutches of the Garden girls. Instead of taking her to dinner as she had requested, Asiya brought Maria straight into the garden, explaining to her that she needed to look 'presentable'.

Was a dress and these ridiculous slippers not enough? Apparently so.

Her hair was being pulled in multiple directions as the virgins took whatever opportunity they could to comb the snarls out. They weren't careful about it like their first attempts. The Master wasn't jesting when he had told them that this woman was spirited beyond comparison. Each time they ripped through a knot, Maria felt the roots of her hair burn and prickle from the unpleasant notion.

She didn't impress the women in the least. Well, they noticed she was beautiful in her own way. Fair skin wasn't exactly a common feature in eastern lands, and she had a head of hair most would be jealous of. No, they were almost in awe from seeing her. The Master's woman was very unique.

Especially her attitude.

They didn't appreciate how she would snap and hiss at them, or how she had nearly tackled Asiya out of her way to escape their pampering. Didn't she know that they didn't enjoy this as much as she did? Obviously not, since profanities and foul language spilled from her mouth relentlessly. Allah, they've never even heard some of the phrases she said before!

And then it all came back to the Master. Was he trying to endanger them by sending them this demon of a woman? He must have been! There was no other explanation to the scratch marks on their arms from her struggling or to their pounding eardrums from her curses.

Maria writhed and twisted away from their hands, struggling to her feet once more. She was pulled back down, however, when the Garden girls realized what she was doing.

'_Damn that man! Damn him to a donkey's arse! No doubt he's watching from somewhere!' _She knew, of course, that that was impossible. They were in a room with four walls and only one window with curtains closed. She drew her elbow back, slamming it into one of the women's shoulder. She heard a gasp, and, using it to her advantage, abruptly flailed her arms and legs to shove the remaining females from her. They took steps backward as Asiya brought herself forward.

The healer didn't look happy at all. Her eyes were two black and blazing sockets of fury as she hauled Maria up by her arm and roughly escorted her out of the room. Maria would have tripped over the cushions and blankets decorating the floor had it not been for the ox's strong grip on her arm. She gnashed her teeth together, sure that the flesh of her upper arm would be bruised. Though the women thought her skin was beautiful, to Maria, fair skin meant it was far easier for the skin to purple and sore.

"You no more than trouble, hurting all you see." Asiya firmly tugged Maria along, leading her to the dining hall. "Women try help, you only scratch and scream like cat."

"Better to be a cat than a dog like some people," Maria retorted viciously. Asiya whirled around, looking as if she would love to beat the smaller woman to a bloody pulp. Maria could see the choices dancing around in her eyes. Hurt the woman and suffer the Master's own whipping, or allow her to continue to rant on and on without being punished. Maria smirked when Asiya decided the latter was the wiser of the two choices.

"You respect Master while eating," Asiya brusquely ordered when they had reached the dining hall. Her fingers finally uncoiled from Maria's flesh, leaving the sleeve wrinkled. Maria shot a glare at the woman before rubbing her abused arm. "And no more of rude talk from you."

With another threatening gaze, Maria pushed the door open into the dining hall, absently running her fingers through her hair and not finding the smallest of knots in it.

She almost fainted in relief with what she saw.

Benjamin and Hildegard were seated at the table as well, along with that despicable man. It was a rather long table, with Altair sitting at the head of it. '_Of course,' _Maria thought dully to herself. The design was obviously European, but something else caught her eye. There were only four chairs, the others taken away prior to the meal. Three of them were occupied by those already present, leaving the chair to Altair's right the only one available.

'_I will cut you to ribbons when I get the chance,' _Maria promised herself as she slowly filed toward her seat. The others looked up at her as if they were surprised to see her. Hildegard looked amazed that she was wearing a dress, Benjamin still had that promising smirk on his face for more humiliation, and Altair...

Without his hood on, his face was clear as day to her. His eyes flicked over her form, and she swore that she saw for the briefest of moments a dark and satisfied look in his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving her to question herself of what she really saw.

He was tongue-tied. She looked positively gorgeous in that simple gown. Her hair was down, thanks to his crafty retrieval of the pin that was still safely hidden from her in his pouch, and her cheeks were tinted with a small blush. No doubt she saw him admiring her. He secretly smiled from this while letting his eyes roam over her exposed neck and collarbones. God, how was it possible for someone to be so heavenly?

He desperately wanted her eyes to lock onto his own, but it was as if she knew what he was trying to do. She didn't turn her head nor glance at him. He felt an almost forgotten warmth settle between his legs as he eyed her twirling her hair around her finger nervously. How did she _do _that to him? It was her innocence mixed together with her vigorous and otherwise blunt personality. That hungry look shone through his eyes. He was close to whispering her name just for her to look at him and to see the love behind his gaze.

But she would not play by his rules. No, she was quietly tiptoeing into uncharted and dangerous territory and trying to have her own rules govern. Oh, dear, he would not have that.

The pieces on the board were set, he black and she white as the battle began. She saw in his hazel abyss that he approved of her choice of combat and that he quickly accepted the match.

Her back felt stiff as a board as she felt his eyes on her body, and she unconsciously bent away from him. He noted her discomfort effortlessly and took pleasure from seeing her resist squirming. Oh, he wished she would, but knew she'd never, even if Benjamin and Hildegard were not present.

"Good of you to join us, my dear," Benjamin smoothly said, frowning when he noticed the scars on her wrists. "Now we may finally eat since the final guest has arrived."

The smallest of wrinkles formed in Maria's brow as she stared at him. Just as the words left his mouth, servants came in, carrying in trays of food, some she had never seen before.

Hildegard looked over at Altair. "Malik will not be joining us?"

"No, he'll be dining with my Brothers to speak with them of our... circumstances." Altair glanced at Maria. She was eying the plates as if the food on them would attack her, given the chance. "Have you something against kibbeh, Maria?"

The woman's glare settled on him. "I'm debating whether or not I will like the flavor," she announced with a hint of steel beneath her words. Then, she cocked her head to the side, innocently staring at him as she asked, "Perhaps you'd like to taste it for me first?"

Hildegard hid her smile by helping herself to a large gulp of ayran. Benjamin nudged Maria's foot with his own, his expression warning her to mind her matters. She, however, smiled sweetly, acting as if she was unaware of his caution. She gathered the plate in her hands and held it out to Altair. Her eyes met his as he slowly reached over to take one of the oval-shaped balls from the plate, his look unreadable. He sluggishly brought the kibbeh to his mouth, as if he silently loathed its existence.

Maria watched, hiding her smug grin with a blank and sugar-coated smile as he chewed. She knew, judging by how his chin rose the smallest of degrees when he swallowed, that one of his pieces were now hers. "It's satisfactory," he quietly growled.

"So it is, so it is," she agreed as she popped one of the ovals into her mouth. It was quite delicious, actually. She glanced at Hildegard, who was helping herself to her third glass of ayran. Benjamin cleared his throat, shooting Maria yet another frown due to her pleased smile curving over her lips. She eyed the trays and bowls of hummus, pita bread, salad, pilaf and lamb. They were lined up on the table like soldiers ready for battle. She wondered which one she could use to her advantage to down the Assassin further.

"Your organization is called 'The Rose', am I correct?" Altair quickly brought the attention away from Maria when he saw her calculating gaze on the plates. Benjamin looked up from his food and nodded politely, wiping his mouth on a napkin before replying.

"Yes," the veteran agreed, "we are The Rose. As you can see, not all of us are present at the time."

Altair nodded, placing a piece of meat on his plate as well as salad. "I understand that there are more of you. Tell me of their whereabouts."

"My brother and sisters, Aden, Olivia, and Zaina, are in Damascus currently, gathering whatever they can about an enemy we both share in common." Benjamin glanced at Hildegard as her back straightened excitedly from the news, including when she heard the Arab man's name. "Clarence Lyon, the Templar who failed at his attempt to be wed to Maria."

Altair addressed Maria, then. "What do you know of this man?"

She took a sip of the ayran, trying to decide if she liked the sour taste as much as Hildegard obviously did. "He's hardly even a man," she said when she had made up her mind. It was a unique drink, but nevertheless satisfying.

Altair smirked openly. "And what, Maria, is your definition of a man?"

The question caught her so off-guard that she slammed her glass back down at the table, gaining both Benjamin and Hildegard's perplexed looks. She cleared her throat, trying to stem away the blush that threatened to creep into her cheeks and neck. She desperately wanted to look anywhere but at Altair, but her pride would not allow her. She met his gaze fiercely, her mouth a thin, angry line, and eyes equally erupting the same amount of loathing.

The only thing that gave away his mirth was his mouth twitching.

Benjamin glimpsed back and forth between the two. "Good Lord," he muttered beneath his breath. He purposely bumped the table with his knee, the bridge between Altair and Maria temporarily shattered as they both turned their heads.

"Clarence is one of the nine Templar's who attempt to flush you out into the open, sir," Benjamin supplied. "He's his own army, and a powerful man. He murdered his own family, thinking them to be Assassin's, when he was just a boy. He's skill in swordsmanship, but can be rash when isn't given his way."

The information was not wasted upon Altair. His mind was already in the midst of forming a plan to strike at the man. Benjamin could practically hear the gears turning.

"And his relationship with the Templar leader?"

Benjamin frowned. "I believe that even the Grandmaster of the Templar's is being led askew. Clarence doesn't exactly see eye to eye with anyone. He's good at deceiving people and oiling their palms with coin and leisure. If you're wondering if the other Templar's will collaborate with him if he is in danger, then I can safely assume 'no'. Even his Brothers think him to be a pest."

Hildegard bit the inside of her mouth.

Altair's brow furrowed. "You are saying that their Order is frail?"

"Frail? No, not in the least bit. Full of mistrust? Oh, yes, indeed," Benjamin assured him. "Already they question why one of their Brothers, Earl of Gloucestershire, lies buried and dead in the grou—"

"Penis."

Everyone at the table's heads swiveled to Maria. The veins in her forehead were showing beneath her skin, her jaw taut and posture even stiffer than before. "Pardon?" Benjamin quietly asked.

"Penis," she repeated. She glowered at Altair. "Men are penises—giant, oversized, walking penises!" The man's eyes went wide, as if he couldn't believe what she had just said. Maria continued, her voice rising and face reddening further, "Penises that don't give a damn about women and their trials!"

She could feel her foolishness almost envelop her completely. She was her own worst enemy, her hurt and words surrounding her, caging her in.

Altair sat back in his chair, doing his best to keep an amused grin from spreading across his mouth. Allah only knew how many soldiers she had left in this game, and there weren't too many at that. This pleased him to no end. She should have known better. She was a warrior traipsing into enemy territory, vaguely remembering the venom he had safely stashed away in case of emergencies. And to him, anything dealing with Maria required that poison.

Her humility was almost tangible. Hildegard resorted to her previous hiding spot: ayran. Benjamin closed his eyes and cradled his forehead in his hand.

"Then, Maria," Altair innocently suggested, "are women only wombs?" Maria's eyes flashed and she balled her hands into fists, clutching the fabric covering her lap. "Giant, oversized, walking wombs?"

The woman took in a slow breath, trying to control her emotions. She fought to keep her voice level, and her struggle was audible as she dangerously seethed the words, "Penises that force their happy levers into women without second thoughts."

The corners of Altair's mouth straightened and his eyes hardened. "Perhaps that is the case with some women." Hildegard felt a warning tingle travel up her spine, and Benjamin opened his eyes to plead with Maria to back down gracefully.

"But then again," Altair mused quietly, looking intently at his plate, then fixing a strong hold onto Maria's own eyes, "maybe both man and woman wanted the intimacy, the _beauty _of adjoined flesh."

Maria slowly rose from her seat, her pieces defeated and captured, all save for her king. Her blood boiled from his sharp words. An Assassin he truly was, never directly and openly charging through an enemy. He simply sat back, watched as she weakened herself and opened a wound, then applied his skills to pour salt into her.

She swallowed as he followed suit and stood from his place at the table. She knew him to be half a foot taller than herself, yet the way he squared his shoulders and pointedly looked down upon her made that distance seem much greater.

Without letting her eyes leave his, her hand found the small pitcher of salt on the table. She fingered the pewter vessel before collapsing it with her index finger. The white granular contents spilled out onto the table. The symbol had Altair's shoulders eventually loosen, recognizing her surrender.

He, however, forgot how sly and fickle his battle maiden could prove to be. With her resignation, her king was saved, and she intended to use her precious last man standing to her liking.

"Are you familiar with the weather in England, Altair?" Her voice was soft, yet the tone was as lethal as a mother protecting her young.

He blinked, not expecting such a response from her. Quickly regaining himself, he answered, "No, I haven't had the pleasure to visit your country, Maria."

"Then you are not familiar with how soft the soil is due to all the rain we get. The earth is so soft, so tender..."

"What are you trying to say, Mar—"

"Perhaps you should go there, then, and discover how loose the soil is there when you dig your son up from his grave to tell me the _beauty _of that."

Hildegard's and Benjamin's jaws dropped from Maria's bold statement, watching in horror how the woman didn't give Altair any time to absorb what she had just said before she stormed out of the dining room.

Altair stood, stoic and still, for long moments, the weight of her words boring down unto him. His heart pounded inside his chest as he felt a part of it tighten and nearly choke him. He had won the battle, yet she had nearly won the war with those cold, lifeless words.

He could feel something inside of him die and replaced by something cold and sharp. It prodded in his chest until it found the cavity, then dug its spikes into his heart. He stayed his hand when it tried to feel his heartbeat.

Her face is what killed him the most. The wounds beneath her flesh peeked from her skin, showing him that they were still open and far from healing. So many, many gashes and cuts... and she blamed it all on him. Was it just for her convenience, or was it true? He glanced back at the table, realizing that Benjamin and Hildegard were giving him uneasy looks, as if they expected him to strike them down.

He cleared his throat, his voice heavy and baritone, "Please, excuse me." He briskly walked out of the dining hall, intent to settle things once and for all between himself and his warrior.

"Oh dear," Benjamin mumbled, lacking better words to describe the situation. "Oh dear, oh dear oh dear..."

Hildegard blew out of her mouth, poking her food with her fork. It looked unappetizing and absolutely disgusting right at that moment. She glanced up at Benjamin as he covered her hand with his own.

"Come," he whispered as he pulled his chair back, "we should talk sense into her."

* * *

Maria hurried her pace through the fortress, tears bristling in her eyes and threatening to fall. The fact that she was so weakened to cry upset her further, but all the more reason to get away from it all—to be free of him, his words, his sins, everything. She could only imagine him following close behind, just as bitter as she was, if not more. Her mission to avoid him sped her up as she stepped lightly through each hallway, nearly walking into one of the Assassin's.

She barely spared a glance at him, only seeing his grey hood. The boy looked stunned to see her, and almost overjoyed when he saw her current state. She brushed past him, too absorbed and shamed to care for him or his smirk.

Air. She needed air and some time. Time free of things, time for her and only for her. No man bent on taming her, no more cruel words, no more games. Just time.

* * *

Altair turned a corner, his black robes flying behind him as he walked faster than ever. He was a man full of purpose and pride, both of which were critically beaten by a woman—_his _woman.

"Er, M-Master?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and snapped his head to the figure standing off to the side of the hall. Mashhur was looking as frightened as ever and even a little harassed. Altair ran his tongue over his teeth, knowing the duty to his people came before his own personal responsibilities.

"Speak quickly, Mashhur."

"Master, that woman, the one that ran away—" He gulped when he saw the Master's eyes flare from memory.

"Yes, what of her?"

"She... she just came by a few moments ago, and, well..." He paused, knowing he had to be extremely careful. He couldn't let the two lovers reunite no matter what. It was his job to weaken the Assassin's internally, and leaving Altair lonely and full of desire for that shameful woman's flesh was the answer to everything.

"Well _what?_"

Mashhur jumped, feigning to be startled. "Well, she... she gave me a message to tell you..."

"_And?_"

He wracked his brain for any believable lie he had in there. Gulping, he began, "She... she says that she never wishes to see you again, and if you wish to claim what is rightfully yours, for she is not, and never was or will be, yours to touch and fondle and love and whisper to, to search the earth for a boy whose life never even began." Mashhur gulped, masking his joy from how Altair's face paled from the message. He continued, desperately trying to hold back his victory from his voice, "And she says that if you wish to find the pleasures of flesh, either visit a brothel or to... to..." He paused, trying to think of something else to say.

Altair, being ever so quiet, waited for the boy to finish as his heart plummeted further in his chest.

"To continue using your own digits, wishing that you were never an Assassin so that you'd have a full set of ten instead of nine."

The Master of Assassin's inclined his head, not saying a word, which yet again irritated Mashhur to the bottom of oblivion. He kept his back hunched in a form of inferiority in front of the man, and only straightened when the Master called out to a novice on an evening stroll.

"Mustafa."

Immediately Mashhur's face shriveled. He _hated _Mustafa. Always reasonable, always being a polite little weasel, always _chuckling. _He _hated _chuckling as much as he hated the Assassin's Order.

The novice bowed his head once he was standing next to Altair. "Yes, Master?" He hoped that he wouldn't yell at him further. Oh, he'd had just about enough of loud voices and venomous words for a lifetime.

"I've a... request for you."

Mustafa frowned. "This late in the evening, Master?" Then, on a side note, he whispered, "Is everything alright?"

Altair grunted. He _wished _everything was alright. If everything was alright, he'd be in bed with Maria, holding her as their bodies cooled and as she slept, knowing that he had remembered what love was and what it meant to have a purpose to live. Yet he knew that Mustafa wasn't asking about him personally, but about the whole of Masyaf in general. "Yes, Brother, Masyaf is safe this night." He only wished his troubled soul was.

Mustafa let out a breath he had been holding. "Thank Allah. I was afraid, with all the Templar's swarming the Kingdom, Master."

Mashhur sniffed at this, rolling his eyes beneath his hood.

"We will speak of things further in my study," Altair stated as he eyed Mashhur suspiciously. The dislike between the two boys was obvious, and he was a wise enough man not to create more jealousy between them. He nodded to Mashhur as a dismissal, who bowed before walking away. The boy huffed as he turned, very much not liking Mustafa near the Master. He could unravel everything he'd worked so hard for!

Mustafa walked almost abreast to Altair as they entered his study. The older man sighed as he saw the documents threatening to engulf his desk. He moved behind his table and cleared off the space, placing books back onto their shelves and stacking papers neatly. Well, as neatly a man could do.

"You are aware of our guests, are you not?"

Mustafa nodded as an answer. "Yes, the two women, the dog, and the man that arrived earlier today. What of them?"

Altair paused, hesitating to ask the boy. It wasn't any of Mustafa's concern, but he had some redeeming to do in his eyes. "You are aware of the... delicate balance between myself and one of our guests?"

Mustafa shifted his weight and bit his lip as he nodded. "Y-yes, Master. Your w—Maria, I believe her name is, is not as warm and welcome to conversation with you as say, Hildegard or Malik is." His brief pause of better phrasing had Altair frown. He didn't like the term his Brothers were referring to Maria as.

"That is correct. That balance has recently wavered, and not in a particularly healthy way."

"What would you have me do?" Mustafa blurted, slumping his shoulders. "I'm just a novice, Master, I'm no miracle worker, and you can just ask Rakin or Nabil. I'm still an _idiot._"

Altair shook his head, sitting down in the chair at his desk. "No, Mustafa, you're far from an idiot. Immature, yes, but that's to be expected. How many years do you have?"

"Nine and ten, almost twenty, Master."

Altair nodded, seeming to like the answers. "And it is that immaturity that I value."

Mustafa tilted his head to the side. "Value, Master? How can something looked down upon be _valued?_"

"What is love?"

Mustafa blinked, then scratched his head. "Eh, excuse me?"

Altair repeated the question more slowly. Mustafa puckered his mouth as he thought. "I... it's... I _don't know_, Master. I've never been in love, I don't have a say in the matter."

Altair looked pleased with the boy's answer. "Exactly, Mustafa, exactly. Your view on things isn't as complicated as it is with our older Brothers." That, and he was assured he would not try anything with Maria.

"But you could have asked a more experienced Assassin, Master. Surely one of the 'Mediates would be better suited to this task. Or even Malik. Age is only a number, I agree, but status is the amount of effort and success achieved from the effort—"

Altair smirked at the boy as he rambled on and on. When he finally paused to take a breath, Altair quickly seized the opportunity to interrupt. "Mustafa, you do not even know what it is that I am to ask of you."

Mustafa's arms went limp as he slouched, knowing that he was right. Instead of admitting his fault, he stared at the floor, embarrassed with himself.

Perhaps Mustafa wasn't the best choice. Altair liked him enough and knew that he put a lot of work into his training. The boy had potential and was willing to go at any length to achieve the status of Master Assassin. But what was training compared to reality?

"I want you, Mustafa, to keep an eye on Maria for me. Make sure she is comfortable and provided for here. I cannot do it myself for obvious reasons, so I am trusting you with this request. You have the option to turn this down, Mustafa. Don't forget that. I put faith into you that you won't."

The boy blinked, eventually becoming disappointed with the mission. He was to be a... servant? A door mat? Just someone for her to complain to and order around? He sighed. He might as well have been demoted back to kitchen boy.

"Master, I'm... I'm no good at staying in shadow while watching a target. Mashhur's better suited to notice everything around him. He's better at kissing up and buttering people as well." The words were out of his mouth before he even registered what he was saying. He looked terrified as the Master's eyebrows rose. He waited in fear for what the man would do to him for unintentionally insulting him.

"Mashhur is very observant," Altair quietly agreed, "but he also lacks delicacy and consideration for those he is around. If you feel that you are unequal to the task, you can walk away, Mustafa, without a heavy burden on your shoulders."

He felt as if a heavy burden _was _on his shoulders from hearing the hope in his Master's voice. He was guilt-tripping him into agreeing to the mission, and he was being a sucker for it. He chuckled nervously, wringing his wrists together, knowing that what he was about to say would have him at the cobra's mercy.

"I'll do it, Master." Then, with more confidence, he added, "You can count on me."

Altair closed his eyes, his lips moving together as if he was mumbling a prayer. Taking the silence as his permission to leave, Mustafa bowed once more before retiring to the barracks. He stopped halfway down the stairwell when he heard Altair whisper quietly.

"Thank you, Mustafa, and keep her safe."

Mustafa wasn't sure if he had heard correctly, and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to have heard correctly. The Master was the master, end of explanation. There was no reason to thank his men for accepting a contract, given a choice or not. And he hadn't even _started _yet! There was so much room for him to flunk and destroy the mission. He was no good with people besides his Brothers, and he had never really interacted with women before. Well, there was Hildegard, but Hildegard wasn't emotionally challenged like that other woman was!

Mustafa chuckled again as he kicked his boots off and buried himself in the cushions and blankets that served as the beds in the barracks. He sighed from the chill of the night, snuggling further into the plush pillows. Nabil and Rakin were already sound asleep, the former's loud and obnoxious snores drowning out the sounds of the night. It was a good thing, too. Crickets could be awfully annoying creatures.

He wrinkled his brow from barely hearing the soft pattering of rain against the fortress. Tomorrow would be a soggy and depressing morning—another reason for him to stay in bed than tend to his duties.

What did the Master mean, though? Keep Maria safe? It wasn't in the job description to keep her safe! He just had to give her a loaf of bread if she asked for it, or to recite poetry if she wanted to hear it. He didn't know poetry, but he did overhear a rather crude and implying ballad involving reproductive organs. Maybe she'd like to hear that?

'_What, does the Master want me to become a bard instead of an Assassin?'_ The thought crushed his hopes of becoming something great. It was his dream to reach the top and to save humanity from the devils that lived within the Templar's. But to reach that dream, he needed to be careful and safe. But he had to keep Maria safe. Was something happening in Masyaf that required her to be protected?

If so, why couldn't the Master do that? He was the best man in the city, both in strength and ability. Surely he could defend her if any invasion of some sort occurred. Thinking of Templar's breaking through Masyaf's walls and terrorizing the citizens made him snuggle even further into the blankets. They were out there, he knew that, but they couldn't possibly sneak their loud and boisterous selves into the gates. Could they? No, they couldn't, not with all the scouts posted in the Kingdom to keep Masyaf updated, and certainly not with their outpost guarding the way to Masyaf.

But what if it wasn't the exterior that had the Master worried, if he could even be called that? Maybe one of the Templar's was _inside _Masyaf. It was terrifying to think about, knowing that his Brothers' lives might be in jeopardy. He prayed that if there was a traitor in Masyaf, the Master would find him or her soon and put an end to their miserable life. He didn't need the responsibility of repeatedly checking over his back to see if anyone was going to try to stab him in his blind side. Masyaf was _home. _He was supposed to feel _secure. _He only felt plagued.

Deciding that such thoughts were best for the Master to deal with, he closed his eyes and hoped that sleep would come. He feared that it would not due to his recent discoveries.

* * *

Maria trudged through the Garden, wiping the tears from her eyes and tripping over her own feet. She fell into the mud waiting just for her, cursing as she spat some of it from her mouth. She stood up, her slippers no longer on her feet from her fall, and clambered down to the lowest level of the Garden.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her nails digging into her sleeves as she scrunched her body together as much as possible. Her shoulders heaved from trying to hold back her tears, and her bottom lip trembled. Her legs slowly slid from underneath herself, lowering her quivering body to the wet and muddy earth. She barely registered the fact that she was soaked to the bone and that her dress was soiled beyond recognition.

Tears slowly spilled from her eyes, mixing with the rain relentlessly pouring upon her. She tucked her chin to her chest, letting her hair fall in front of her as she held back her cries.

It wasn't fair. He didn't know, he never would know. He didn't know the pain of being alone while creating another person. He didn't know. He was blind. And he'd stay blind. He didn't know how lonesome she was or how she hated herself. He couldn't see it, she hid it too well. She masked it with her supposed hatred for him. He didn't know. He didn't know, it wasn't her fault. It was his.

He didn't give birth, she did. She didn't see her child, she saw him, cold and dead. She went through that terror of being alone and utterly helpless. No one to talk to. No arms to wrap around her, no warmth to share, or kisses to steal. No teasing, no battles, no thrill of each other's company. Nothing. He didn't know. He didn't know pain, he never would. He didn't miss her, he never did. He never would.

She caved into herself as her mind fooled her to believe false words. _He didn't love her_. She could feel herself tearing apart as those words clicked into her brain. The man she needed the most to be with, the person she could _feel _her life belonged to, didn't care. He'd lead her on, then rip her to shreds. Her condition was proof. It was his fault. It was her fault. He reduced her to rubble. She was humiliated, stripped down to nothing more than a common woman. She wasn't significant to him. She held no unique quality. She was Maria Thorpe, woman.

Frail. Defeated. Meek. Incubator. It was all she was. _Accept it. _

Heartless. Bastard. Seductive. It was all he was. _Accept it._

She sniffed as she felt another tremor course through her body. It built up in her chest, then pounded at her throat for release. She was going to break, she knew it. _She was already broken._

"Maria?"

She screamed. She tore at the soaked grass, ripping it and flinging it this way and that. She felt a pair of hands firmly grab hold of her shoulders. She shrieked and howled herself hoarse, clawing at the person who dared interrupt her misery. She doubled over, breathless and gasping for air. The hands tried to pull her upright.

_'Let me go...'_

She fought the grip, trying to rid this nuisance away from her. She tried to gather her breath, but found it too painful. Her nose was stuffed with snot and her mouth too busy shouting and yelling to take in a breath. Her back curved, throwing her back to the ground, her only support her one free arm as she spat whatever she had eaten at dinner.

"Sarah..."

Her lips fumbled, hacking out the gooey strands of half digested food from her. Her tears trailed down into her mouth, the salty taste calling forth another round of screams and cries. The hands finally pulled away, and she could sense the person kneeling beside herself. She felt arms then, wrapping around her waist and pulling herself to him.

"Shh, Sarah, I'm right here..."

She bawled, her arms instantly snaking around his neck and holding him tighter to herself. He rubbed her back, whispering soothing words into her ears that only had her tears shake her further. She fought to keep her eyes open as fatigue washed over her, the raindrops settling in a comforting way on her skin, only to drip off. Her fingers clutched him closer, as if he was her last link to the world.

She tried to tell him to never let go, to never stop loving her. She needed to hear those words more than anything. He was kissing her hair, her forehead, tucking her into his neck with his chin and keeping her safe in his arms. She felt warmth trail down her cheek that didn't belong to her.

He was crying as well. His blue and her grey both shed the tears that spoke the words passing through them. He loved her, he always would. She was the daughter he never had, and he the father she wished she knew.

He rocked her in his arms, smoothing her hair with his hands while he spoke volumes of words to her. She needed those words and the passion behind them. But he couldn't give it to her. A soldier sheds so much blood, ends so many lives. He was the same as her, only a veteran and nearly retired.

She needed the young and free man, the strong and the brave. She was a sinful soldier, almost a paradox.

He held her throughout the night, cradling her in his arms until the rain dimmed and eventually stopped. The thunder raged on, lightning occasionally splitting through the sky overhead. It would have been peaceful. It _should _have been peaceful. There should have been another holding her instead of him. What had she ever done? She had only ever followed her heart. She was a feather stained by her own blood.

She was asleep, her head resting against his chest, looking as helpless as a newborn. It wasn't like her. This wasn't her, it couldn't be. Where was the spirit, the courage, the woman? Who was this stranger in his arms?

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her back into the fortress. He past the other woman, whose blonde hair was soaked a dark brown. She stood, tears leaking from her eyelids as her gaze followed them inside. He was silent, not daring to wake the woman in his arms up.

The lightning continued to pierce, the thunder resumed rolling.

She looked at the balcony, more tears springing free at the man who had watched everything. His face was hidden by a hand, his arm shaking as it gripped the balcony's railing for support. She blinked, then made to go back inside the fortress.

The rain soon returned.

* * *

Altair waited until he heard the door click shut, followed by two pairs of footsteps.

"It's best she sleeps now," Benjamin whispered. He heard Hildegard make a sound of agreement before the footsteps died off in the distance. Closing his eyes, the Assassin waited a couple of moments before turning where the pair had once been. He slowly turned the handle on her door, being sure not to make a sound.

There was a flickering candle on her nightstand, a pleasant and placid orange glow hovering around it. He padded quietly toward the bed where she was.

Bayo's head lifted from the mattress as he caught scent of the man. He wagged his tail happily in greeting, then rested his head back on his paws and closed his eyes. Altair ran his hand over the dog's head before sitting on the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands in both of his.

Her hair was damp as if it had been towel-dried, and the dress she previously worn was discarded in a corner of the room, as well as the belt he had purchased for her weeks ago. Instead, she wore a light and comfortable nightgown.

Her fingers were wrinkled as he rubbed his thumb against her palm. He felt each callous and the hardened skin, her flesh telling the story of the battles she had partaken in.

She looked absolutely exhausted. He cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb against her parted lips. Maria was never a light sleeper, but she wasn't exactly defenseless while resting. She was either unconsciously aware of his presence and trusted him, or she was too tired to the point where she didn't care if a hundred soldiers stormed the room.

Or she relied on Bayo to alert her to any unwanted visitor.

He shifted his weight on the bed, crawling and turning his body until he was behind her and her head was nestled comfortably in his chest. He tucked her hair behind her ears as he looked out her window. It'd only be a few hours before sunrise. He sighed, his chest rumbling pleasantly against her. He'd rest for a bit, yes, and make his disappearance before she woke up.

It felt so _right _to be with her like this. Here they were, she asleep and him having his arms wrapped around her possessively. They _belonged _together. She fit so nicely against him and was so soft...

He shrugged his shoulders, nestling further into the pillows behind him. He was comfortable like this, too. It was far more peaceful than lying alone, even if his bed was larger. He bent his neck and placed a kiss atop her head. He breathed in her hair, noticing it smelled like the Garden. That was his fault. He shouldn't have pushed her.

When she woke up, everything would be different. The rest would be up to Mustafa to make her feel welcomed at Masyaf. He hoped with all his heart that the novice would be able to convince her that the place wasn't so bad. He feared that when she regrouped with her comrades, she'd leave. If she made that decision, he doubted there'd be anything he could do that would change her mind. After all, she was a very stubborn woman.

He nuzzled her, accepting the inevitable.

At least he'd be able to hold her for one night, no matter how brief it was.

* * *

Maria groaned and turned her head to the side, frowning in her sleep. She felt something cold and wet nudge her neck, whimper, then repeat the process. She mumbled something probably unladylike, then tossed in bed so her back was facing the pest. She sighed and moaned in satisfaction when the prodding stopped. She twisted the blankets around herself like a cocoon. It felt like years since she slept in something so comfortable...

She felt something shift from underneath her, heard a growl then what sounded like someone shushing the growling mongrel, and then felt something soft on her forehead. The feeling lingered, sending a warmth that reached her toes, before leaving. She said another incomprehensible mutter, not wanting the feeling to have ended. It came back then, this time on her cheek, almost on her mouth. She smiled, reaching out with her hand to find the source of the kisses, but met nothing but air.

Confused, she forced her eyes open, only finding the room empty, besides Bayo lounging on her bed and Benjamin snoring in a chair near the wall.

She slowly sat up from the bed, her hair disheveled and tangled in front of her face. Was it... a dream? Her imagination? She brought her hand up to her cheek, not finding anything peculiar about it. Was it... _him?_

Bayo's head popped up and he placed it in her lap. He blew out of his nose and looked up at her expectantly. She shrugged and rubbed the area between his eyes with her knuckles. "He's a strange man, isn't he, boy?" she murmured quietly. Bayo licked her arm, then nudged it. She stretched her arms over her head, yawning like a bear waking up from hibernation. Benjamin shook himself awake from the sound, snorting and turning his head this way and that.

He rubbed his eyes free of sleep when he saw Maria. "I see you're awake," he said carefully. He watched her closely. She arched her back, throwing her fists in the air and groaning in pleasure as her back cracked. She twisted her back left and right, sighing as she felt it pop. He himself grimaced from the sound. He never did like hearing bones crackle or leave their sockets.

"Sorry," she whispered when she saw his disapproving glare. "I like cracking them."

"I can tell—eugh, _Sarah!_" He winced and closed his eyes from hearing another pop. She smirked, then collapsed back onto the bed.

"I'm finished now," she laughed quietly. He blew in relief and offered a small smile, one that she returned.

"How are you feeling?"

She frowned at the question, recalling her breakdown last night. One quick glance out her window told her that she had slept in past noon. A good thing, too, else she would have been in a foul mood if she woke up sooner. "I'm contained," she said dryly.

"Are you feeling better now that it's all out?"

She shrugged her shoulders and closed her eyes. "I suppose you can say I'm relieved that I can still feel that much emotion after everything I've been through. I'll admit though, it was refreshing, even if I made a fool out of myself."

"Nonsense," he gruffly replied. "You've had a rough year, Maria. You can't blame yourself for reacting the way you did. Besides, you were both at each other's throats."

She rolled her eyes and wiggled her toes. "Maybe. But maybe I'm like all the other women out there: prone to cry over the smallest of things."

"I sincerely believe that crying over a year's worth of loneliness, a dead babe, and a lover are not so petty as you make them out to be."

She tried to smile. "I don't know anymore, Benny. Sometimes I think that I'm wasting my time by remembering the past and that I should just let it all go. But, other times... Sometimes I like to believe I have a right to be angry."

"Of course you do."

"But is it worth it? Will I produce any positive results from it? Will he—" She cut herself off and turned her head to the side opposite of Benjamin. She didn't need him to see her blush.

"Will he still love you?" he quietly finished for her. She nodded. "Maria, my dear, I may not be as young as I used to be, and even though my eyesight is starting to deteriorate, that man has it _bad _for you," he chuckled. "I mean, really _bad _to the point where he's slurping drool back up his mouth." Maria smiled and gave Benjamin a thankful look.

"And why not?" Benjamin argued with himself, smiling like a proud parent. "Any one of my daughters is likely to trip a man here and there. Why, with their looks, their personalities, their ferocity—"

"Except Zaina," Maria chuckled.

"Except Zaina," Benjamin mused. He blinked, as if he was just hit in the face. "I nearly forgot! Blimey, curse old age's memory!" he grumbled as he pulled his saddlebag from the side of his chair. He placed the bag on Maria's bed, piquing her interest.

"You forgot what—" She gasped as he withdrew broken pieces of metal from the bag and gently held them out to her.

"I'm sorry that this is all I found of them," he whispered sadly. "I tried looking for more pieces, but... I'm afraid the furnace found them before I could. I know they were dear to you, Sarah."

Maria deftly took the pieces from him and looked them over with a heartbroken gaze. "Ebony and Ivory," she breathlessly whispered. "Oh, my babies..."

"You'll have to make new hilts for them, as well as forging the blades back together."

She shook her head and looked back up at Benjamin. "But, how? Where'd you find them?"

"Acre, love. I had hoped you and Damiel would have been there when I arrived, but just like the other pieces," he gestured at the broken blades, "I couldn't find you two. So, I scoured the fortress, and found a whole lot of dead guards. Clean kills, too. I overheard a few men arguing over the blades, each of them wanting both to themselves. I got there just after they decided it was best that the swords be destroyed, and well... that's all I could salvage. But, I should be truthful," he sighed. She furrowed her brow in question.

"Truthful? What do you mean?"

"I... I knew you weren't telling me the complete truth from the very beginning, love. Why else would your swords be in Acre? I thought to myself, 'It isn't like Maria to just _leave _them somewhere', and when I found Earl's dead body, well. Some things in the picture cleared up, and I had assumed you were captured."

"So, you're saying you humiliated me _publicly _on _purpose_?"

He chuckled. "An old man's sense of humor, what can I say? Besides, you needed it more than you know."

She scoffed at him. "I barely remember anything from Acre. I recall beating idiotic men senseless in a bar, but... things are still hard to grasp. I... I vaguely remember Earl. I remember he was _there, _but I'm not sure where _there _is, or was. I know I was hurt, else I would never have these," she pulled her sleeves up and motioned toward the dull red lines on her wrists. "It's just frustrating that it isn't coming to me."

"Give it time, Maria, but prepare yourself for the worst while you're waiting. You never know what may have happened. Who knows, maybe I'll find something out before you do. But don't worry yourself sick over it." He cupped her cheek in his palm and gave her a warm grin. She slouched her shoulders and let her eyes slide shut.

"Bara would have killed me if he saw them like this. To have his and Catherine's swords snapped like twigs... Oh, poor things," she sighed.

"Now, there's no need for that," Benjamin pleaded when she looked like she was on the verge of tears. "You've had quite enough of those last night. You can fix them, can't you? You're good with the anvil and hammer. After all, you crafted Riva, remember?"

"But I had something to go by," she retorted. "If I didn't find that manual, Riva never would have existed."

"But you know swords," Benjamin countered, "and there are plenty of smiths here that would gladly help you. And on top of that, Xavier, bless his soul, taught you how to smith, didn't he?"

"He taught me the basics, like making sure the hammer hits the blade and not my leg," she grumbled. "I don't know if I have the skill to fix this..."

"Have some confidence, Maria, or just ask around."

"I don't want any of these Assassin's touching my babies."

"Well, then you're on your own, now aren't you?"

"Don't you know anything about smithing?"

Benjamin scratched his trimmed beard, then replied with a jolly 'no'. Maria rolled her eyes, then frowned when she noticed a tunic and a pair of britches were folded neatly on her dresser. She puckered her lips, then swung her body over to the side of the bed. Sure enough, her boots were placed there as well, clean and polished, as if she'd never lost them.

"I take it someone's trying to say 'sorry'?" Benjamin chortled when Maria tugged her nightgown over her head and shrugged into her britches.

"A perverse way to say it. Giving a person back their clothes..."

Benjamin turned around politely and shrugged. "Least you'll be more comfortable, and it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Then he'd love to _not _hear what my thoughts are."

"Oh, Sarah," he scowled. "Learn to give the man a break. Women are such mysteries."

"Men are so incapable of solving mysteries." Finally having her tunic smoothed out over her torso, she held her hair up as she began looking for something to hold it in place. "And he's unable to give me back my clip," she hissed.

Bayo hopped off the bed, then crawled doggy-style underneath it. He barked happily when he found what he was looking for and crawled back out. In his mouth was the missing hair clip. Maria smiled and gave a word of promise of raw meat to the hound before pinning her hair into a bun.

"And what is Maria Thorpe's schedule of the day, may I ask?"

She looked over at Benjamin once she shouldered his saddle bag with what was left of Ebony and Ivory placed back inside of it. "I'm not so sure, to be honest. I'll see if I can't do anything about them," she patted the bag, "and then I think I'll pay a visit to the bathhouse. I feel as if my skin is crawling."

"Sounds like a plan, love. Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Seer struggled not to laugh at the sight in front of him. Tyler, looking little more than a child who had been denied the right to play with their favorite toy, sat at the table, teary eyed and huffing every other second. The only knowledge he had gained from the boy was that he had a fine set of lungs and could scream for hours on end, even when he was not tortured. Seer thought that the boy was trying to deprive the guards of their sleep. He was doing a fantastic job of it. A pity that it affected Seer with the same efficiency.

"I don't know what else to do," Tyler sniffed into his folded arms. "Malcolm will _yell _at me if I don't find any information out soon. He expects me to learn about that Thorpe woman through Damiel. But _how _am I supposed to do that if he doesn't _talk?_"

Seer rolled his eyes. He was afraid of _yelling? _Of _sound? _Oh, and if the world was to collapse that very second, the fool would still be worried about being screamed at by Malcolm. Pathetic. And he was being forced to work with this man? Absurd.

"Everything we tried on him—coals, The Rack, The Chair— it just _doesn't work! _I've peeled skin, I've sliced skin, I've even _melted _skin, but oh no. Heaven forbid he says one word about Maria! Would be nice to make my life a little easier."

Seer stoically sipped his wine. The thought of blood made it have a metallic taste. And this was supposed to be the good stuff...

"What if I'm removed from my position? What if another torturer catches Malcolm's eye, and I'm _replaced? _What will happen to me then? What will I do? Oh, Seer, it's awful!"

"I'm sure it is." Sip. Sip. Sip.

"I have papers, though," Tyler thought aloud. "Yes, I have papers that clearly state my competence for this position. I've studied under the best minds, learned the parts of the human body, and I know how to manipulate others! I _have _to stay."

"What a shame." Sip.

"I can try slicing more skin off of him and then feeding it to rats right in front of him. That might crack his mind just enough to let us know a thing or two. Oh, but then I'll have to _wait _for his skin to heal and grow back before I can do that! Do you_ see _how frustrating my job is and how well I deal with it? No one else can replace me! I am _irreplaceable!_

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps the boy _doesn't _know anything?" Refill.

Tyler almost gagged upon hearing the words. "Don't be ridiculous, he _has _to know something! Else I receive a good kick in the rear _out the door_ and into God knows where!"

"Clear your mind of your pitiful excuses for a moment, would you? Let's assume that he has no idea where Maria is, what her plans are if she even has any to begin with, or what the Assassin's plans are. How would you feel knowing that you have been abusing and almost _killing _an innocent man?"

"It's too small for him to be a man, I _assure _you—"

"_Tyler."_

He huffed and crossed his arms like a stubborn little boy. "He's still guilty, though! He's with The Rose, and that's reason enough to kill him! I'm just taking my time with it!"

"You'd kill a man who believed differently than you?"

"Oh, Seer! Don't start this with me! We're _Templar's_, and they're nearly Assassin's! I mean, did you _see _the boy climb up the ramparts? He was like a monkey! A spindly, bloody _monkey! _He probably is an Assassin!"

He swished the wine in his glass around, frowning at the red liquid. "It's a comforting fact to know that you don't store your victims blood, otherwise I'd swear I was drinking it."

Tyler rolled his eyes and swatted his hand in a blasé fashion. "I keep those bottles near the torture chambers, you needn't worry about that."

Seer's mouth thinned into a disgusted line as he purposely pushed his wine glass away from him.

"I'm retiring for the night. I need some sleep to know what to do with the boy. Maybe I'll dream of something, if God is kind to me. Or maybe I won't. Enjoy the rest of your night, Seer."

The Roman watched with a curled lip as Tyler excused himself from the table and walked out from the dining room. What a little man he was. He deserved his own vile creations to be used on him. Seer's mind partly liked that idea. Maybe it was just the idea of hearing him scream for mercy that had him smiling sadistically. But he was an honorable man, and all honorable men knew not to torment the lesser and the weak. He'd have to just hope that one of the Assassin's would sooner or later (preferably sooner) dispose of Tyler.

Then he'd have a corpse to laugh at without hearing its whiny and adolescent complaints.

But maybe he could squeeze his hand in matters not related to him. Perhaps he could persuade Malcolm to rid the Order of Tyler. That'd be a comfort to all the Templar's—besides Clarence, of course, but no one even liked Clarence anyway. Seer pushed himself from the table. He was taken with the idea of Tyler just disappearing. Now, to play his role in the grand scheme...

He never did like the torture chambers. Not only were the victims usually whimpering or mumbling to themselves like mad folk and the guards taking enjoyment from the sight of them, but it was the _feeling. _As soon as he stepped down the stairs that led to the cells, he could feel the diseases brooding in the air. They immediately swarmed him and had his throat itch. How could anyone even survive down here? How could a torturer even _work _down here?

Seer shook his head and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He held it to his nose as he picked the key from its holder on one of the walls. It was coated with crusty and dried blood. How sickening. No doubt some of the men here were capable of holding their own in battle. They were probably honorable. He sighed, but regretted it when he almost gagged on the stench. He turned a corner and rummaged through the recovery table. Tyler thought since he reduced his victims to little more than animals that it was perfectly alright to claim their valuables as his own.

He picked up the worn leather journal that he had previously browsed through. They had no need for it, so why keep it? After all, it was highly rude to read someone else's diary, Assassin or not. He casually walked back to the cells, briefly searching them for the boy he wanted.

He stopped in front of his cell, narrowing his eyes at the sight before him. The boy was red with blood, ribcage showing as well as other bones. His knees were sliced clean of the flesh, as were his elbows. He was curled in the far corner of his cell, his long hair matted and covering his face. He smelled absolutely repulsive, his feces clinging to him like a second skin.

But he was speaking to himself. It wasn't the gibberish that most captives spoke. It was actual _language._

"...Journal number twenty-seven... knives and hammers..."

The Roman sighed and cleared his throat. The boy's head immediately shot up to stare at the man. He was petrified by the thought of being tormented again so soon.

"So, you're the infamous Damiel I've heard so much about, hm?" Seer shook his head when the boy pressed himself further against the wall. "I suppose asking you not to fear me is out of the question, isn't it? Ah well. _Quella è vita per voi, no?"_

Damiel tensed and narrowed his eyes at the man. Seer leaned against the cell bars. "You don't know anything, do you? About Maria?" Seer smiled grimly when the boy didn't reply. "I know you don't know, but Tyler doesn't. We'll have to fix that, won't we?" He shoved the key into the hole, turned it, and slid the cell door open. He knelt and placed the journal at the cell entrance.

"Listen carefully, boy," Seer sternly instructed. "I won't stop you. The guards are asleep. Go out the back. There are horses fully saddled and tacked. Take your pick, and get yourself out of here. Use this map." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and sat it on top of the journal. "It's marked with your current location, as well as where you want to go. But heed this warning, boy: if you are caught, I will not help you." Seer stood. "There are provisions in the saddlebags. You'll only have a few hours before anyone notices you are gone. I do hope you use it to your advantage."

He walked away, eager to retire to his own chambers. He smiled to himself, knowing he had just bent the rules in his royal fashion. Ah well. If Tyler asks where the prisoner went, he could always shrug and say 'oops'. If Tyler expected him to be a fool, then he'd play the part beautifully. That was his good deed of the day, and he had to say he was quite proud of himself. The lesser had a chance to redeem himself. Seer liked to think that he didn't free Damiel, but that he gave him an opportunity to consider.

* * *

Damiel sat in his cell for several moments, absorbing what the Templar had just told him. He shook from the idea of freedom and a chance to escape the pain. But this could be a Templar trap as well. The man could have wanted him to leave his cell so that Tyler would have yet another reason to ravage him. Damiel shut his eyes, feeling tears slide down his face, leaving clean lines in their wake. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to get _out. _But he... he didn't know...

'_What more can they do to me?' _He leaned his head against the cell wall and let the tears clean his face. He couldn't stay a caged eagle forever. He needed to be free, to find the others, to attack the Templar's...

He couldn't do that from within a cage.

He bit his bottom lip as his arms slowly felt for the wall. The limbs shuddered uncontrollably from the pressure he exerted onto them. He tried to will the pain away as his fingers fought for a better grip on the rough stone. The rocks dug into his fingertips, more blood emptying out onto his flesh. He wailed as he curled his fingers around the coarse edges of the stones. Bringing his knees out from under himself, his eyes watered more as a stinging and brutal pain coursed from the bottom of his feet to his knees.

He struggled, slowly pulling himself up. His breath was short and filled with gasps and whimpers. His flesh felt like it was on fire. His knees buckled, sending him back to the soiled floor. He screamed as he scraped himself against a protruding stone. Sweat was trickling down his brow and back, mixing in with other excretions on his body. He split his lip from biting it so hard, and soon he tasted that horrible metallic flavor. He flushed the blood out of his mouth with his tongue, the sticky liquid dribbling down his chin and neck.

Damiel grunted and braced his muscles as he attempted to bring himself back up. Another cry pierced the cell when his bones rattled and refused to correspond with his command. He gasped again and wrinkled his brow in concentration as his toes and fingers pushed him back up.

He would _not _be left to die in this cell. He'd free himself. He was _un Asesino_, and he'd be damned if the Templar's ended him. '_Maldiga a estos Templarios al Infierno y a todos los demonios del inframundo!'_

He fought the urge to collapse and welcome the cooling embrace of sleep. He shouted as loud as he could as he slowly stood. His eyes bulged as the pain became overwhelming, and his arms and legs tensed. He swayed side to side. Panting, he brought one foot in front of the other. It felt as if needles were shooting into his body with each painful and tormenting step he took.

He wasn't even at the cell door yet. '_I can't do this...'_

'_NO! You can, you must! Listen to yourself, Damiel! You've people waiting for you, you've a _LIFE _waiting for you!'_

Damiel held the wall with one hand as he bent his knees back to the ground. '_The journal... grab the... the journal... and map... get it...' _He fumbled with the incomplete Codex and map, cursing until finally grasping it in his bloody palm, and then stumbled throughout the torture chamber.

"_Dios está conmigo."_

_

* * *

_

Translations"

_Quella è vita per voi, no? _= That's life for you, no?

_Un Asesino _= an Assassin

_Maldiga a estos Templarios al Infierno y a todos los demonios del inframundo! _= Curse those Templars to Hell and all the devils in the underworld!

_Dios está conmigo _= God be with me.

**Special thanks to Maki-San for helping me with my Spanish! :D**


	21. Chapter 16

As promised with my recent update to Talon's Bridle, here's the next chapter of Loving Hate! I said in the previous chapter in my author's note that I'd be going back and redoing some chapters, fixing typos and bettering the wording here and there. I also changed Hildegard's sister's name from Amber to Ermengard. I previously wanted 'Amber' to be a nickname for 'Ambrosia' (we'll learn later on that Hildegard had some coocoo parents), but eh. After a talk with my sister and after watching Hello, Dolly!, I decided I liked the name Ermengard.

I'm also considering dropping the story. To sum my reasons up, I had a nice heart-to-heart chat with my sister, who is also an Assassin's Creed fan. It's difficult to explain why I feel that the story just... _isn't _working, so I'm not going to explain it here. Message me if you want to know more, if you'd like.

Also starting an Oblivion fanfic if anyone's interested to read it, but I think its popularity has gone down, even though it's a great game.

Anywho, enjoy and let me know your thoughts on it!

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.

* * *

Maria quickly scarfed down the bread she had pilfered from the kitchens, Ebony and Ivory clanking together in Benjamin's saddlebag as she jogged through the training courtyard. Several of the men hard at work paused in their exercises to give her a brief glance, but most of them ignored her presence and focused on the lesson being taught in the ring. She herself slowed her pace to hear what the instructor was saying. It was something about avoiding blows without staggering backward.

She looked down at her leg. It didn't hurt all that much, just a dull throbbing here and there. The wound wasn't deep to begin with, at least, to her it wasn't. She'd seen some brutal and disgusting injuries while still a soldier.

Perhaps she should have stayed and listened to the lesson.

She cast a look up at the fortress' grand window, scrunching her face together when she saw the back of _him _hunched over his desk. He was either sleeping on the job, or something proved very, _very _interesting.

'_Damn jackal,'_ she hissed internally as she pulled the door open to the barracks. It was logical that the armory would be somewhere near where the men slept, or at least in the castle itself. But she had searched the place like a hound and had no luck.

Assassin's were filing to and fro, some shaking their heads as she entered the barracks. She returned their frowns as they pushed past her in their small squadrons to patrol the town. She nearly had to hug the wall to avoid being lost in the swarm of Assassin's bustling about. She resisted the urge to snort and roll her eyes at them. It was past noon, of _course _they were eager to leave the barracks. It was time for a meal, and she swore she heard several stomachs growl apprehensively.

Maria almost knocked a few of the men out of her way as she wedged her way past them. If only she'd arrived a few minutes later! Finally breaking through the mob of killers, she huffed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Honestly, would it have maimed them to have allowed her through without the struggle? She cursed quietly, content to believe that all men were bastards.

But soon her roused attitude increased significantly as she bumbled about the barracks without the smallest idea of where she was going. On the outside, it looked to be a small place, but on the inside, well. It was all a maze to her, and she swore that she past that same rug three times already!

'_The bloody Hell is the smithy?'_ She heard the unmistakable clinks and clanks of the hammer hitting the anvil and let her ears guide her. Turn, walk, stop, go back again, listen, oh, was that the way?

She knew she found the armory when a sudden blast of smoldering hot air greeted her. Maria would have loved to sigh in relief and frustration from finally finding the damn room, but the scene before her kept her from any sound.

"I don't care if he's the Grandmaster or Allah Himself! I _demand _that he sends me apprentices that have a _lick _of talent in them!"

"But, Rauf—"

"Don't question me, boy! I've been in this fortress for nearly fifty years, and I deserve at least a _crumb _of respect, no?"

Maria smirked to herself as the man, Rauf, continued to bend the poor novice's ear off with a very creative choice of words. The messenger boy shrunk after every breath the man took, it seemed.

"And be sure to tell him that I do not appreciate having to create new arms to replace the ones that miraculously walk off on their own from the courtyard!" he bellowed before the boy gave a meek bow and ran out of the smithy. "_Ooo-uumaa!" _he sighed as he unceremoniously plopped himself down in a chair beside the anvil. "They keep spawning from nowhere, it seems. Apprentices, this way and that, swarming the armory, looking for a teacher!" He shook his head and barely spared a look in Maria's direction.

He _tisk_ed to himself when he saw her. "And now look, _another one! _Probably sent here by the Master for a lack of something better to do, and no doubt their shalwars are all bunched up in excitement from the thought of wielding a hammer and hitting something with it over and over again."

Maria cleared her throat and stepped toward the man, deciding that now was the time to interrupt. "Actually, sir, I'm here for my own reasons—"

"Oh, yes, I'm _sure _you are, it all sounds _so _lovely to me at the time. I suppose this is what I get," he grumbled to himself, "from retiring from being the combat trainer and persuading the Master to allow me to work as a blacksmith for our Brothers. At least the eager novices in the courtyard know the _concept _of fighting. Whereas these vermin that crawl even from the cracks in the walls stare at me with that blank and oblivious look in their eyes!"

Maria bit the inside of her mouth as she shifted her weight from side to side, impatiently fingering the leather straps on her bag. She opened her mouth to speak, but another rant from Rauf made itself known.

"Not to mention that the Master actually _expects _these boys to excel at the craft! What, does he think me a miracle worker of some sort? And who _are _you?" He sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck, rambling on and on. "I possess no magic, only skill with the anvil and furnace. All I can do is instruct, demonstrate, and hope that the pea-brains _understand _and have the ability to make a weapon by themselves without me holding their hands step by step.

"But _oh _no," he scoffed, "the Master wants me to give them _encouraging _and _inspiring _words of wisdom. Hah! Those boys are better off _encouraging _weeds to grow! At least it doesn't take much effort! And _who are you? _Don't even get me started on the weeds, either! Have you _seen _the Garden lately? You'd think those ladies would have nothing better to do than pluck, pluck, pluck!

"But of _course _the Master doesn't have the boys use some of their clumsy muscles for such trivial tasks as gardening! No, he has to send them to Rauf in hopes that they'd become blacksmiths. I hope the Master isn't praying with everything he's worth for those boys to be successful, otherwise he's sure to meet disappointment before the end. And Rauf _never _finishes before the end. And _who are you? _

"But I'm forgetting that we Assassin's do not believe in such a God. Perhaps this is our punishment for choosing the Creed over religion! Very useless apprentices! Talentless novices spontaneously generating from the soil! A Master who thinks that Rauf can fix just about anything! But _no, _he can't! The Master forgets Rauf is one person with only so much patience. And _oh, _that patience wears thin! These novices go on and on and on about their little problems _all _the time! You'd think with their training, they'd be learning something!

"And oh, once I ask for a new position amongst our Brothers, I suppose it's perfectly alright to have some baklava chum come and replace me! _Hah! _I'd like to see that instructor tell those boys how to find their way out of a burlap sack! I doubt they'd be able to. And furthermore—_who are you?_" Rauf furrowed his brow at Maria, his eyebrows nearly becoming one.

"You are not one of my Brothers," he stated, as if it was an insult. "Nor are you one of those pesky novices."

Maria only stared for several seconds, blinking at the man. He didn't even seem to take a breath, and... all that _talking! _Dear Lord, maybe she should have traveled to another city just for a smithy.

"I'll ask again, wom—"

"Maria Thorpe... _guest _of Masyaf," she blurted before he could finish taking a breath.

"Ah, the Master's woman who ran away! You've returned, wonderful. Why doesn't anyone tell me these things? Just because I work in the barracks doesn't mean I'm dead!" he grunted again. He sighed and waved a hand at her. "Forgive me, you've caught me in a bad mood. They seem more and more frequent nowadays. What with the novices and all."

"So I've heard," she chuckled bluntly. "They cannot grasp the hammer?"

"HAH!" he roared. "_Grasp _the hammer? They think the objective is to hit the anvil so hard that it _breaks! _If you'd look there," he nodded toward a pile of broken wood and metal, "_that _is proof of their inability to smith!"

She understood his agony perfectly, though she'd never say it out loud. And she would _never _complain and rant as he had just done. Well, maybe she would, but only in front of those she trusted.

She never really was a patient enough person to put up with such small-minded fools, either. "Perhaps your dedication can help me with something, friend." She pulled the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the worktable.

Rauf stood from his chair, mumbling to himself, "Hmph. _Dedication. _These boys do not know the difference between making a weapon and _birthing _a weapon. They think it's all about hitting. Hit a few hundred times, put it in the furnace, do it all over again, and then poof! You have a weapon. _Wrong. _It's about compassion and purpose. What good is a blade if it has no meaning to its life?"

Maria listened to what he said, almost nodding in agreement. She'd put much love and care into Riva. She wanted Damiel to be protected in battle and not fall because of his clumsy swings, and Riva made up for his flaws with her balance and length.

She carefully emptied Ebony and Ivory onto the table. Rauf took one look at the blades, then raised his eyebrows irately. "Of course," he gruffly sighed, "broken equipment. This is what happens when they are not cared for properly. People just leave them out, someone finds them, and then you can say _ma'a salama!"_

"I know it's my fault," she snarled, "but I'm taking responsibility—"

"I suppose you deserve some credit then—"

"And I intend to repair them."

"Were these daggers or swords?" He frowned at how the damaged blades were so short compared to the weapons aligning his wall.

"Swords," she coolly replied.

"Hmph. They're missing several pieces and are in terrible condition. You're going to need new hilts," he slowly remarked, as if she was a child, "and there's a crack running down this one. It'd be risky to fill it in with more ore. You'll have to melt them and start from scratch and add onto them from there."

She glowered at him and almost smacked his hand off his wrist when he poked at Ebony. "This one will require more time to repair, as the blade is thicker than the other one. That means—"

"The hilt is going to have to be wider to be proportionate with the the blade," Maria finished blandly for him. "May I use your anvil?" She didn't wait for a response before taking Ivory and carrying her to the furnace.

"Sure, why do I care? I suppose maybe an outsider will have better luck than the boys that pillage my privacy every hour of the day—augh, _another one!_" Rauf moaned and rubbed his forehead with his palm. Maria looked over her shoulder to see a boy, near Damiel's age, standing off to the side. She eyed him up and down, noticing he wore a grey hood.

He cautiously approached her, one eye on Rauf complaining to himself and the other on the broken sword in her hand. "You are Maria, no?"

She stiffened her shoulders. She never did like strangers knowing who she was. "And you are..?"

"My apologies, miss," he bowed before her. "I am Mustafa, and I am hear for your convenience. Whatever you need, I will be most honored to complete the task for you." He refused to call himself a servant, she noticed. She smiled, noticing that he was none too pleased with being given this responsibility.

She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something, Mustafa. Do you like these orders?"

He blinked and cleared his throat. "I am to do as I am told, miss. I am honored to be trusted with such a task."

She could only guess who gave him those orders. "You still have not answered my question, boy."

Mustafa shyly looked down at his feet. She most certainly wasn't like Hildegard. Whereas Hildegard was very easy to talk to and to get along with, this woman was practically asking for a conflict. "I am just here for your convenience, ma'am," he murmured.

"Oh? My convenience? Let us be blunt, Mustafa," she purred, "I do not need someone putting my boots on for me. I'm a capable woman, after all, and I'm perfectly able to pull my own weight around. Perhaps you should see to your Master's needs, seeing as how the man can barely keep himself together."

He couldn't agree anymore. Mustafa sighed. "I am here to assist you in whatever tasks you require aid for, my lady."

"Then make yourself useful by stoking the fire, Mustafa. We've a lot of work cut out for us today."

The novice sighed, wishing very much he was Rakin or Nabil. Sewing rugs must have been more entertaining than feeding a fire all day.

* * *

"I trust you know what to do now, right?" Rauf sighed when Maria remained silent. She had returned the following morning after melting Ivory and mixing more ore together, somehow avoiding Altair in the Residence Hall. They both exchanged a glance, he staring blankly at her while she glared quite impressively at him before purposely turning her back to him. The man never seemed to cease torturing her. Even then, as she looked over Ivory's new form, he still had her blood boil.

Maybe it was hate, but maybe it was love.

Though there wasn't any visible damage, she wouldn't risk there being the smallest of cracks inside of Ivory. She had to be exactly identical to how she was before Acre.

"Yes, Rauf. I hammer the bar into the shape of a sword."

"Yes, you _shape _the bar. You do _not _break that hammer on that anvil! I hear one little crack, and I'm taking it away from you!"

Mustafa rolled his eyes as he wiped sweat from his brow. He was sure that his face would be permanently flushed from spending so long of a time in the smithy. It was blazing hot. He hoped with all his heart that Rakin and Nabil were picking themselves over and over again with needles. He didn't deserve to be the only one punished in such a cruel way.

Maria grunted in acknowledgment of what he'd said and began the arduous hammering. Instructions that her uncle had given her swarmed through her brain. She was partially conscious to the fact that Rauf was hovering over her and watching each strike with experienced eyes.

"You've a good hit with the hammer," he murmured.

_Each hit comes from the combined power of the wrist and the elbow, Maria. That way, the blow is more precise and accurate._

She nodded, continuing her work to shape the metal. "It'll take a week for each sword, won't it?" she asked between hits.

Rauf nodded and helped himself to the chair. He had offered, as a test, her a seat, and was most satisfied when she refused it. He knew a great deal of novices that would have disappointed him. "Yes, maybe even more than that if you desire specific accessories, like a design carved into the metal of some sort."

"I'm happy leaving that alone. It isn't the outside of a blade that holds its strength."

"The strength comes from the man, or woman," he corrected himself when she shot him a glare, "wielding the blade."

"A blade's purpose comes from their master's duty to life," she finished quietly. "My uncle said the same to me when I was younger."

"So you know a thing or two when it comes to smithing," he mused intently. "I suppose I should be happy with this, though I must say, I'm _ecstatic_. It's been too long since a person with half a brain of sense stepped foot in here. I can only pray to all the hammers in the world that you'll fail to disappoint."

She smiled, taking the compliment to heart. She felt more comfortable since he didn't see her as the everyday woman. Either Altair told him to mind his manners around her or he'd see to it that he didn't have any manhood left, or he was polite by nature. She didn't care to know which one it was.

Besides, Rauf was a compassionate man, even if he had his grumpy moments. He obviously cared for his Brothers as each blade hanging on display on the wall was absolutely gorgeous. It was as if he took the definition of an Assassin and imbedded it within the metal. How such glory could shine through a sword, Maria wanted to know. She couldn't help but to feel jealous of his skills.

However, though Maria was enjoying herself by improving her craft, Mustafa was bored out of his skull. She never seemed to be satisfied with the shape of the blade. It was either too wide or too long, or it was obtuse in the smallest fraction of a degree. He mainly twiddled his thumbs together, only leaving the armory to fetch lunch and dinner and to return their plates. He couldn't keep track of time in this place. There weren't any windows, and when he had announced he was going to bring them food, the two of them looked surprised that it was already time for a meal.

He prayed he wouldn't have to spend two weeks in there. He'd go mad, he knew it! That, and he'd permanently have a headache with all the pounding this woman was doing. He'd tried to take a nap, but his eyes kept flying open whenever she'd strike with the hammer. Rauf looked most pleased, though. He could almost see the idea whirling around in his head of asking the Master if she could be his apprentice. Hell, since when did Rauf need permission for anything? He'd only just have to show proof of her capabilities in a pleasing voice, and then he'd have his way.

Mustafa felt left out of almost everything their conversations were about. They mainly spoke of ores found in foreign lands, particularly those in China. He didn't understand them for the most part. It was all a different language to him, and one that wracked on his nerves. He couldn't even find a reason to chuckle in the place!

"And did you know that the hidden blade originated in Persia? It's quite a feat, I think, for an Assassin to travel from there to here over time, bringing their technology and knowledge with them. A powerful thing, knowledge is."

"Knowledge isn't the only powerful thing," she commented after finally satisfying herself with her handiwork."

"Oh?" Rauf raised an eyebrow and eyed the beginnings of the blade. It'd be a beauty in the end.

Mustafa pricked his ears upon hearing the challenge in Rauf's voice. Though Mustafa chose to stay on the sidelines in deep discussions, Rauf wasn't a man to be trifled with when it came to arguing. He knew how to cut people off fairly well.

"Yes. Music is just as powerful as knowledge." She looked over at Mustafa, who was once again pushing more logs into the furnace, hiding his look of interest with a concentrated and sweaty face.

"Music?" Rauf creased his brow and watched as she took the prongs and placed Ivory into the furnace. "How can sound be so earth-shattering?"

"Because it makes us _feel. _It _inspires _us." She watched as the flames licked at Ivory. "Music can lead a person to greatness, or it can lead them to the biggest downfall of their life. Each pitch, each note has its own meaning. It isn't just sound. Well, it can be, if the musician doesn't put their soul into it."

"But knowledge, and even weapons, can lead a person to glory as well. Besides, the only music I've heard are provocative tunes made for brothels," he shrugged. "You speak as if it such a dramatic thing in the world—"

"And why do they play that style of music in a Madam's house? Do you think they play it just to do something with themselves? I believe some of those men would prefer those hands on _other _areas than on their flutes or harps. Music connects to the soul in strange ways."

"Maybe on a small scale, but can music cure the world?"

"Can violence?" She stood straight and placed her hands on her waist. "Though I do enjoy a good match here and there, I'd prefer not having to fight and shed blood."

"Our Brothers share the same opinion, Maria," he held his hand up and chuckled. "An Assassin takes no pleasure in ending life, but we bask in the glory of knowing that the world is a little bit safer after every kill we make."

She raised an eyebrow and turned to the swords on the wall. "I don't disagree with you, Rauf. I'm merely stating my own opinion."

"And I am not denying you that right, miss. But tell me: are you a musician?"

"No," she chuckled, "it's been years since I've played an instrument. I can read it as if it was English, though. I can tell you the notes of each chord, each major and minor scale, the fingerings for each note for several instruments... you name it."

He grunted and stretched his arms out. "And what do you hope to accomplish with a little song?"

Maria bit her lip, afraid to answer him. "Unity," she whispered, "between all men and women. No more imaginary lines between people, no more false beliefs and stereotypes. We're all flesh and blood and bone, how are we so different than people who live in castles? Or those who are not so lucky and live in the streets? We aren't different from anyone, and it's about time people started realizing that."

"And did music lead you to this belief?" She could tell he didn't believe her, but he was being polite and giving her his full attention. She didn't answer him, only watched out of the corner of her eye as he prepared to leave. "Women are strange creatures," he muttered as he wiped his hands on a towel, "always seeing the world differently from men. Their solutions are always so... _simple _and mundane."

"I'd hardly call ending life spectacular, sir."

"No," he shrugged, "I suppose it isn't. But it gives purpose to a man, no? After all, we can't _all _be musicians, now can we?"

"We can't all be killers either, though," she whispered.

He faced her with a serious and concerned face. "Are you not one for the men you've killed during times of war? Tell me, Maria: what are you?"

She opened her mouth to speak but had no idea what to say. What exactly _was _she? A woman robbed of her rights? Someone desperately in love with a man that ruined her life? A warrior only taking a temporary break from the life of blood, sweat and tears?

"Music tells this man to sleep now," he announced when the second eighth bell of the day rang. They both turned their heads in the direction of the chiming, not that they'd see the tower. "Maybe some of these novices should take up the duduk instead of the hammer. Goodnight, Maria, Mustafa," he nodded to each of them and left the armory.

She forgot that the novice was in the room with them. She was too busy absorbed in Rauf's question to notice the boy staring intently at her. Maria sighed and shook her head. "Look at me. I'm making a big deal out of nothing."

Mustafa blinked and offered her a small smile. "I believe you, though."

"You shouldn't believe everything someone says, though. It's a petty way to view life, I suppose, thinking that music can change everything." She rubbed her hands together, though for what reason, he didn't know. It certainly _was not _cold in the armory. "Just a woman's petty belief to think that music will save the world."

"But it makes sense," he offered with a wider grin when she frowned at him. "I mean, suppose that Assassin's were trained to learn music."

"That'd be ridiculous," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't see the point of this."

"But what _is _music?"

"Sound produced from melodies and harmonies, of course."

"And if my Brothers were taught that? If we went to each city, either singing or plucking the strings on a harp?" He stood then, clearly proud of his speculations. "It'd be a cause to live for, would it not?"

"That's probably the most absurd thing I've ever heard," she snorted bluntly. "I cannot imagine _any _of your kind doing that."

"But maybe that's what's wrong with mankind," he wondered aloud, scratching his chin. "Maybe the solution to all our problems is right in front of us, yet we refuse to believe that it's so simple. Or maybe we're too afraid to embarrass ourselves in the process of righting the wrong. Like you said, it'd look foolish for us to go on a chanting journey."

"How many years have you seen, boy?" she demanded from him. He chuckled and replied with an 'almost twenty summers, ma'am'.

"Why do you ask? Does it amaze you that a boy my age can see the world like that?" He hoped that wasn't the case. He was beginning to like her, and he'd be shattered if she admitted that she was impressed with his ability to be mature.

"You remind me of someone I knew—_know_," she stuttered. She prayed night and day that he was still alive. "He was—_is _just a year younger than you, in fact." Her voice was distant and soft, but it was warm and caring. He listened with pure curiosity. "He composed and conducted his own scores, believing that one day he'd travel around the world and teach people the meaning of love through his work. I remember one time he told me something so odd that I couldn't help but to laugh." She stopped to chuckle at the memory. "I think I insulted him by it, though."

"What did he say?" Mustafa sat back down, a fascinated gleam in his eyes.

"He said, 'Maria, I know this is going to sound downright _estupido_, but I believe love is like manure. It should circulate and restore corrupted civilizations with the blessings that come with it.' Funny thing is, though I laughed, I believed him. There wasn't a false word that he said to me in that statement."

"Then are we mere blades of grass out of the millions that populate the earth?" He was entirely serious with the question. She'd even go as far as to think his face was childish with how big his eyes were and how personal he took her little speech.

"I suppose you could say that, what with the manure and all being thrown into the mix. I like to think that we are all music notes, just because it's a more professional way to approach the matter, mind you. We're all scattered, and one day, I pray to the Lord and Jesus above, that we'll all be joined together in one ensemble—that all the solos will become duets, and then the duets merge and create bigger and brighter things in life."

"And speaking of music," the two of them turned to the new person entering the room, "I do love me a good lullaby every now and then, hm?" Hildegard should have been posing with all the bravado she'd used in that sentence. Maria rolled her eyes while Mustafa chuckled.

"Figures it would be _you _to ruin the moment," Maria dryly stated. Hildegard laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder before wrapping an arm around Maria.

"Isn't she a bore, Mustafa? Always going on and on about every man and woman holding hands—fascinating, but repetitive, Maria dear. Why, I can think of a certain man who'd _love _to hear all about your thoughts and views on mankind. A certain _Assassin_, hm?" She unraveled herself from Maria to pace the length of the room, throwing her arms out in front of her as if she was envisioning something splendid.

"Why, nearly all the men in this fortress deserve to hear and feel the emotions you rave on and on about, Maria! Just look at what poor Mustafa's been going through! He's having a change of heart while all the other Assassin's must suffer being cold, dead bricks!" She pranced over to Mustafa, flinging an arm around his shoulder. "Terrible, isn't it?"

"What is it that you want, you leaking piss?" Maria growled. Hildegard swung over to Maria then, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Oh, deary, why do you always think I _want _something from you? Have you ever thought that I just want to spend a little time with my friend? No? Augh, you wound me, Maria!" She dramatically turned her head to the side, gasping as if having her very existence insulted. Mustafa's chuckling only encouraged her performance. "You only offer me such cruel words in my time of need!" Another dramatic and over-the-top gasp.

Maria peeled Hildegard off of her, but the other woman wasn't finished yet. She grabbed Maria's arm, flung her across the width of the room while still holding onto her, and whimpered, "Maria, love, I haven't spent any time with you in forever, and this is how you treat my attempt at conversation?" Maria let her breath out in an audible puff as Hildegard yanked her back over to herself. She twirled into Hildegard, the blonde woman leaning her backward into a dip.

"You never talk to me anymore, Maria! Have I done something to insult you? Prithee, let my flaws be known so that I may win you back!"

Maria blinked, not entirely sure how she'd ended up in that position. "Hildegard, you're dazing me, love," she breathed out.

"Pah!" She pulled Maria back up into a standing position, giving her only a moment before placing a hand on her waist while the other held her hand. "Now, walk with me in a _one, two, three_, love." Maria rolled her eyes, placing her hand on Hildegard's shoulder, knowing there'd be no winning with the woman. "I have come to inform you that I have been rummaging through the fortress in need of something to do."

"And it was important to delay with all your fiascoes, why?"

"Would I be the same person if I _didn't_? Isn't she a funny thing, Mustafa?" she lilted at the boy. He could only blink as a response. "Well, I've been opening doors all day long, digging my nose in cabinets and cupboards, and it's paid off tremendously, Maria."

"How so?"

Hildegard threw her head back and imitated a noble's laugh. "Why, while you were in here sweating like a man, _I _found something completely mesmerizing and out of this world!" Then, she halted their strange dance, her brown eyes sparkling and full of wonder. "I have something to show you, love."

* * *

"Hildegard, there better be a good reason as to _why _you are dragging me up these stairs, else there'll be Hell to pay!" Maria hissed as the two women clambered up more stairs with a very exhausted looking Mustafa trailing not far behind them. "For God's sake, let me go!"

"Oh, quiet your complaints, Maria, and keep up with me!" Hildegard gave a firm jerk to Maria's arm as she turned a corner up another flight. "It isn't too far now."

"_What _isn't too far? Damn, Hildegard, I'll be lucky if I even have an arm after this!" Maria's legs worked overtime to keep herself balanced while being pulled along. She swore that any moment she'd go flying into the stairs and crack her head open. What a present that'd be to Altair, seeing his beloved's innards spilled all over the place.

'_Actually,'_ Maria smirked, '_it might be a benefit to me since Hildegard would be the one to blame.' _She collided into Hildegard's back as she came to a sudden stop. "Bloody Hell, Hildegard, I _swear _to you that I'll—"

"Ah, here we are," Hildegard mused. She wasn't even panting, just straightening her skirts and hair as if she just took a light jog through the Garden. Mustafa soon joined them. He looked winded as he doubled over to catch his breath. "You'll forgive me soon, Maria," Hildegard chuckled.

"And _how _do you plan to have me accept your foolishness—" Maria's breath was taken away from her as Hildegard opened the door they had stopped at. Hildegard smiled in victory as Maria's face was the epitome of awe and admiration. Maria slowly ventured into the room like a child in a fantasy land. She repeatedly looked back behind her at Hildegard to make sure the woman wasn't just pulling her sleeve.

Mustafa's eyes widened at the structure situated at the far wall of the room. He didn't know they had one of those—he didn't even know that _Syria _had one of those! Well, he wasn't quite sure what it was, but it looked important.

Well, it looked important to Maria. He hadn't the smallest clue as to what he was looking at.

Maria hesitantly brought her hand out to touch the carved wood of the pipe organ, as if she was afraid it'd fall apart at any given moment. She brought her hand back up to her face, frowning from the dust on her fingertips. How many years was it left to wither away in solitude? She glanced at the keyboard, noticing a fine layer of dust blanketing it that would only accumulate even further over time.

"Oh, I know, Maria, I'm such a monster for tearing you away from the armory," Hildegard sighed hysterically. "I'm well aware that it is _such _a sin to present a pipe organ to their friend."

Mustafa crossed his arms, not very sure what a pipe organ was. He knew it was an instrument, but what sound did it make? He was curious, to say the least.

Maria sluggishly shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what was in front of her. "It's been years," she whispered breathlessly.

"Well, go on! Play something for us, won't you?" Hildegard pressed.

Maria narrowed her eyes, and in one quick swipe, she ran her hand along the row of keys. The dust flew into the air, and the instrument sounded. Mustafa gasped from the combination of the slurred notes, not expecting it at all.

"Quite different from our duduk and harp," the novice murmured. He watched and listened as she explained the basic parts of the organ to him. She placed her foot on what she called 'the bellows', explaining to him that it repeatedly needed to be pumped to supply the instrument with wind. He nodded, not really understanding anything that she was saying.

Her fingers poised themselves above the keys, and she lightly pressed down onto them. She clicked her tongue. "The tone isn't exactly to my liking," she explained when Hildegard tilted her head to the side. "I'll work with it, though."

She played through scales, accompanied by their arpeggios, teaching the novice the sharps and flats required for each one. She had to start from the very beginnings of music for him, though. The words 'half-step', 'flat', 'sharp', and 'chord' flew around his brain like a whirlwind. He tried to sort through them, but his struggle was visible on his face. She sighed, knowing that he'd never understand.

"Perhaps Rauf was right in saying that music can't save us," she said sadly. "If it's too hard a concept to grasp, then maybe violence _is _the only answer. After all," she snorted, "it doesn't take a genius to know how to drive the pointy end of a blade into another man."

"You belittle yourself, darling," Hildegard said obviously. "Keep playing. I'm off to find us some candles. The moon's offering us little light as of now."

And she played the minors and majors while Hildegard soon returned with the promised candles, as well as cushions for her and Mustafa to sit on. Maria refused a chair when Hildegard had suggested one, saying that she was better off standing to relearn how to play. She scowled whenever she made the slightest mistake, and she never smiled or praised herself when doing something right. Her brow was fixed in a constant line of determination as she remembered how to play.

She was so enveloped by the instrument that she did not notice when Hildegard and Mustafa excused themselves, the second tenth bell ringing, signaling that all novices were to be in bed. Even though Hildegard wasn't part of the Assassin's Order, she still thought it a good time to get herself some rest.

Maria played through the night, even when the candles burned out.

* * *

Altair narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. That wasn't a sound he ever heard, at least not in Masyaf. Maybe he heard one being played a few times in Acre, but what was the importance of music compared to a mission? He placed his documents back on the shelves and left his study. He remembered coming across the pipe organ when he was younger and still a novice. He'd asked his superiors why they even had it, and they only shushed him and told him to respect what he did not understand.

He smirked, knowing that he'd come a long way from that ignorant and foolish boy he had once been. He no longer mocked what he did not grasp, at least not all the time. He was human, err was guaranteed with his existence.

He briefly paused up the steps when the music stopped, but resumed his pace when he shook his head. So the little musician had finally decided to call it a night. Good, he was planning on retiring to his chambers anyway. He didn't need to hear the nasally sound the instrument made all night. If Malik heard it, he'd surely pester Altair until he broke the thing.

Altair pushed the door open, letting his gift of vision flood his eyes. He blinked his fantastic guide away when he saw the gold shimmering of her figure curled up on the floor in front of the organ. He sighed, stepped forward, and knelt beside her.

* * *

Maria peeked her eyes open and groaned at the hound in front of her. Bayo stood next to her, wagging his tail back and forth while nudging her with his nose.

"I was having a good dream, you son of a bitch," she muttered before turning onto her other side. Bayo trotted around her and placed a paw on her shoulder. He whined and squirmed happily. She only scrunched her face up and moaned in displeasure. "Go find someone else to bother."

He got down on his belly and growled playfully. She threw her arm over her eyes to block the sunlight. "Give me five more minutes, hound."

The dog stood and stamped his paw in irritation. He barked and jumped on top of her and quickly skirted away when she launched herself upright to smack him away. She gave him a warning glare before curling back to the floor. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep and the light. Not only that, but she could feel a headache begin to pound at her skull. God, why did she have to stay up all night? And why did Bayo have to wake her up so _early_?

Maria slowly opened her eyes again, testing whether or not she'd even be able to get out of her makeshift bed. She sat up and shook her head back in forth, immediately regretting it when her headache (that was probably Altair's fault in some way) pounded more insistently (which she blamed Altair for). Her eyes watered as she blinked them rapidly.

"Making me get up just to play," she spat at the dog while she stretched. "Ridiculous." She cracked her back, then stopped as she noticed what she'd used as a blanket. She didn't remember covering herself with anything, only that she'd laid down on the floor and shut her eyes. And she didn't remember Hildegard offering her a blanket, nor Mustafa for that matter.

"Now that I think of it," she whispered, "I never used a pillow." She looked behind her at the cushion, then back at the robe covering her. She picked a sleeve off the floor and felt it in her fingers. It was heavy, and just judging by the length of the sleeve alone, it was two or three sizes too big for her. She clenched her jaw and gripped the black fabric tighter.

"Insufferable, opinionated, self-centered, foolish, gluttonous, pig-headed, yellow-bellied, blind, breast suckling _Assassin_," she swore as she trampled through the robe. She stood up and ran a hand through her hair, cringing when she felt snarl after snarl. The clip was making it worse, and she rolled her eyes out of irritation. She ripped the damn thing out of her hair and shook her curls out. Of _course _she was going to have a bad day. It was probably Monday. Or maybe it was going to rain later on.

She held the robe out and bit her lip. She couldn't just _leave _it there. That'd be rude, and considering he'd actually been _thoughtful_ (even though she was reluctant to admit it), it'd make her look bad if she didn't acknowledge that. Maria huffed and jutted her hip out as she pondered her choices. She had to give it back to him, it'd be the right thing to do. And though she was a woman who believed in independence of men, a 'thank you' was in proper order.

Curious, she slid her arms through the sleeves. As expected, it hung loosely from her shoulders and touched the floor. She turned her head toward Bayo, who was giving an encouraging wag of his tail and looking as happy as ever.

"What are you looking at, mutt?" she whispered. He responded by nudging her leg with his nose and lolling his tongue out playfully. "I'm just giving it back to him, it isn't like anything has changed!"

Bayo sat on his hind legs and whimpered. "Oh, so you think just by tucking me in with a robe, everything's healed and forgotten?" Bayo barked happily and sprung up and down. Maria groaned and shrugged out of the robe. "What, you don't believe me? Fine! You can come along if you wish, and you'll see that _nothing _is going to happen." She bundled the robe up in her arms, muttering nonsense at how ridiculous this was.

"The man probably had this all figured out from the start," she argued to no one in particular. She and Bayo walked down the stairwells back to the foyer. "If he isn't there, then I'll leave it on his desk and pretend nothing ever happened. Besides, I have better things to do. Rauf is probably complaining about my tardiness, and poor Mustafa, having to put up with the man. Honestly, these Assassin's are unbearable."

When she climbed the short staircase that led to his study, she was surprised by what she saw. Rauf, which she thought a complete coincidence, was speaking to his master. She guessed by his hand gestures that it was important. Not only that, but she was quietly admiring the other man in the study.

Altair, not wearing his black robe, wore the usual white tunic that most of the Dai wore beneath their robes. If he noticed Maria, he made no attempt to bring her in the conversation, and she was thankful for that. After all, she didn't want him to see her eying his torso up and down. The tunic was suited for him, and some parts clung to his muscles. And, well, while he still wasn't on her 'Favorite' list, she still had the gall to think that yes, he certainly looked rather handsome, in a rugged way.

Perhaps the wording 'dangerously seducing' suited him the most.

She backed away behind the bookshelf respectfully. What kind of person would she be if she was caught eavesdropping?  
There were swords, obviously poorly made, on the desk. Rauf did his best to persuade Altair that the novices were draining their supplies of ores. What really piqued her interest was that his next topic was her, of all people.

"Please, Altair, you must consider. She's shown much more promise than those other falafel-headed boys you've sent me. She knows what she's talking about, and most importantly, she isn't a bother. I'm sure if I apprenticed her, she'd make a fine smith."

Altair ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought of an answer. "We do not even know if she's going to stay, Rauf. She has her own comrades, and I don't believe she thinks Masyaf to be home for her."

"Yes," Rauf argued, "but if she was doing something she _enjoyed_, Altair, then we may be in business. I'm not getting any younger, we both know that, and having someone else take up the craft may be useful. In fact, she may even be able to help you with your studies. You said that you were looking for a way to alter the hidden blade, no? Perhaps she can be of assistance to you. You never know until you try, Master."

Maria slowly turned her head as Malik ascended the other side of the stairwell. The man stopped and gave her a small glance. He smirked and rolled his eyes when he saw her and did his best not to chuckle.

"I must agree with Rauf," the one-armed man said as he entered the study. "She may be useful to the Brotherhood, Altair. That, and she may find a purpose or two to stay in Masyaf. She is a former Templar, you said. Well, then that means she can use a sword, and I think Rauf will feel better if someone other than Tamam trained the men, wouldn't he?"

Rauf nodded gruffly. "Malik has a very valid point, Master. Besides, you yourself want her to stay in Masyaf, I believe. It'd be a good opportunity for her to grow accustomed to the town, wouldn't it?" Malik mumbled in agreement, placing his hand on Altair's shoulder.

Maria's eyes widened when she felt something bump into her. Swiveling her head in front of her, she closed her eyes in relief to see Benjamin and Bayo. The man raised an eyebrow at the bundle in her arms, then gave her an expecting look. She frowned and shook her head. He motioned toward the conversing men in the study, and she again shook her head. She tried to find some reassurance in her dog, but he seemed either too pleased or too oblivious with her torture.

Placing his hands on his hips, Benjamin looked down at her as if he was a father scolding his child. Huffing, she let him guide her into the study with an all too happy dog following close behind.

She would have bolted right out of there, but Benjamin's hand digging into her back told her otherwise. All three men averted their attention to them, and their conversation stopped abruptly. Rauf gave a calculating gaze at Maria and seemed to find something he liked. He nodded his head at Altair and gestured toward her, whispering that she had skill when it came to weaponry. Altair looked both surprised and pleased to see her, more-so when he saw his robes balled up in her arms.

And he wasted no time noticing that her hair was down. He felt his lips tugging into a smile as he saw her hair was tangled and looked more like a rosebush in need of trimming. Nevertheless, the way she carried herself with all that confidence in her stride made it look _good _on her. Their eyes locked together and she narrowed hers when she saw him liking what he saw.

Though Maria felt uneasy with Altair staring at her like that, she felt even more nervous with Malik. His face paled and his eyes grew darker. Maria frowned from his penetrating glower, thinking that she was at fault. She felt Benjamin's hand tense on her back and heard him suck his breath in. She looked over at her friend, and what she saw startled her.

Benjamin only wore that face when readying for battle. He'd _never _grind his teeth together and shift his jaw unless he was preparing for an attack. When Maria looked back to Malik, she, as well as Altair and Rauf, gasped from surprise.

"YOU!"

In a split second, Malik had grabbed one of the swords on the table and was flinging himself at Benjamin. Instinct alone saved the Englishman as Maria, thankful that Hildegard finally persuaded her to store a weapon or two in her breastbindings, dug out a knife and blocked the attack. For only having one arm, he was _strong. _Her arm and elbow rattled from the impact and she involuntarily took a step back to steady herself.

Rauf stood, stunned from Malik's outburst, and it was Altair that took action and restrained Malik. He tried to hold him back from attacking Maria again, only succeeding partway. He wasn't able to keep him still completely, so he resorted to having both of his hands grip his arm.

"What madness has claimed you, Brother?" he growled as he struggled to stay his blade. It was as if the man had the strength of two arms instead of one. Altair met Maria's eyes, seeing her fight to keep Malik's sword from cutting through herself. She looked beyond furious for the sudden assault, and he knew from experience that when her face turned red like _that, _that she was in no mood for any games or tricks.

He glanced at her weapon, almost cursing when he saw it was only a throwing knife. The blade wasn't made to withstand such pressure. He also took the time to study Bayo. The dog looked torn between who to attack. Maria was his master, but she gave no order for him to attack, and yet he liked Malik for all the treats and goodies he'd been giving him. His choice of action was raising the hair on his neck and growling at the two of them.

"In all my fifty some years, I've never seen such a thing as this," Rauf mumbled as he applied just enough pressure to Malik's wrist to have his fingers uncurl from the hilt of the sword. It fell and clanged to the floor, Maria stepping back just in time. She was heaving with anger and trying to control the want to strangle him for almost skewering her like a kebab.

She stole a glimpse at the floor, noticing that she'd dropped Altair's robe sometime in the process of the attack. Shaking away some of her brutality, she managed to ground out a demand to know what just happened.

"What the bloody Hell was _that _for?" she barked again at Malik when she received no answer. Altair had one arm wrapped around his waist, the other curled around his friend's only arm, and had backed himself up into the wall farthest from Maria. "What in the name of God did I ever do to you, you cur?"

Malik grunted and flailed his limbs to free himself from Altair's grip. "It was _him_, Brother," he snarled. He almost broke Altair's grasp, which had Rauf slam himself into him to keep him under control. "He was the one!"

Maria blinked, then sluggishly turned around to face Benjamin. Altair clenched his jaw from the struggle his friend was putting up. "What are you—"

"He is the one! The one who killed him, and the one who stole my arm!"

* * *

Translations:

_ma'a salama: _good-bye


	22. Chapter 17

After an excruciatingly long conversation with my editors and my sister, I've come to the conclusion to not drop this story, but I will be changing so many things about it. I'm dropping some plot ideas for YOUR sakes: so you won't get too confused or bored. And I apologize for those of you who **are **bored with this story, but this isn't just a romance. Look elsewhere if you just want to read about sex.

And LOL to **Kirsche**'s comment about Assassin's singing. I was having a conversation with Meadjean a few days ago, and we were both wondering what High School Musical songs the characters in my story would sing if they just burst out into song. Any of Sharpay's songs would go to Hildegard, obviously. I think Troy and that Gabriella girl would go to Damiel and R- oh, wait, that's a spoiler! WOOPS XD

Altair and Maria are too cool for High School Musical. So is Malik. Instead, they sing along to Barnie. _I love you, you love me, we're a happy fami-_

You get it. XD

This chapter took me 8 hours o.o because I had to make Hildegard seem like Hildegard while still showing a bit of concern, but yet I had to keep the mood the same. IT WAS HARD AND I HATE THIS CHAPTER. because i fail. And wowsers, we've got some realizations comin' at us fast, here, people! First Malik and Kadar and Benjamin, and oh, wouldya look at that! Next chapter also has some major discoveries. Oo la la.

ENJOY. AND REVIEW. BUHBYE NOW. .

**EDIT: REVISED THE ENDING MALIK, BENJAMIN, MARIA, HILDEGARD, AND ALTAIR SCENE. **

* * *

_"You're sure I can't go?" Damiel whined as he sat down on a crate full of arrows. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime, Benny? Ria's in one of her moods again, you know, being her time of month and all. Can't I come with you? I won't be any trouble, I promise!"_

_Benjamin chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Not unless you can persuade Robert otherwise, my boy. This is a strictly important mission, and he's only chosen his best to accompany him. Not even Maria was considered, Damiel. Keep that in mind." Of course, he'd never tell the boy that Robert wanted Benjamin along for only the sole purpose of having a source of wisdom. The other four chosen for the mission were to Robert's favorite preferences: dumb but able to carry out orders._

_He rolled his eyes and slouched on the crate. "Persuade Robert? You know, that's hilarious, Benny. We both know Mister Tall Dark and French _hates _me."_

_"And I wonder why?" he smirked. "After all, what was it that you said to him before?"_

_"That he was a roasted duck with oily feathers?"_

_"No," he shook his head, "you said that to Maria and not to his face. I was talking about the other thing that you said. Ahh, was it '_dormirez-vous avec moi ce soir?'" _When Damiel groaned and palmed his face, Benjamin chortled, "Yes, I think that was it."_

_"That was Maria's fault! Sh-she told me to say that to him! I didn't know what it meant!" He crossed his arms when all the man did was laugh. "I don't see what's so funny! I can _still _feel the bruise he left me after walloping me one right in the face! Hmph!" He scrunched his face together and slouched further on the crate. "Yeah, you laugh all you want to, _traidor_. I'll remember this."_

_"And what is it that we're remembering, hm?"_

_Benjamin looked up from the sulking Damiel to wave in greeting as Maria came striding over to them. He could tell by the frown in her brow that Damiel was right, indeed: her monthly bleeding was aggravating her immensely._

_"Oh, I was just telling Damiel to remember behaving himself while I'm gone, is all," he shrugged easily. Maria smirked and gave a friendly pat on the boy's shoulder. "After all," Benjamin sighed, "six and ten year old boys and trouble are two peas in a pod, no?"_

_Damiel rolled his eyes and groaned in embarrassment again. Maria curled her fingers in his hair and lightly shook his head back and forth. "You'll be going soon, then, Benny?"_

_"Yes," he grunted. "Robert is still gathering his other men. He'll send for me when he's ready. Now, you two know the drill, correct?"_

_"Stay out of trouble, don't drink too much wine, stay out of the brothels, don't annoy anyone, listen to Maria, and always carry a weapon," Damiel dully chanted the routine response. "Oh, and don't go trampling through our extra undergarment supply," he chuckled when Maria tilted his head up and down. "How could I forget?"_

_"And try to stay near the citadel," Benjamin added when Maria jiggled Damiel's head in agreement. "Good, it seems you two remembered. Splendid. Though Acre is home to the Crusaders, every city has its crimes. Maria," he glanced at her, "make sure he doesn't get into another circumstance, hm?"_

_She scoffed and tightened her fingers in his hair. The memory of Damiel pitching a fight with two drunk and angry Saracens arguing over leftovers was still clear in her mind. "Oh, you have my sincerest of promises that I'll live up to your expectations of _babysitter."_ She grumbled beneath her breath and deepened her frown when she saw Damiel dig his boots in the ground. He was making two small piles of dirt and rock, patting them this way and that with his feet._

_"You know I can't control what Robert decides," Benjamin humbly whispered. "Besides, consider this a well earned vacation, my dear."_

_"Vacation?" she spat. "I don't consider watching over _him _a vacation, Benny. Especially when he tends to drag his chaperones along—_literally." _Benjamin offered her a smile to comfort her, but she only glared at him. "Oh, don't even try to make this seem better than what it actually is." She tilted her head to see behind him. "Looks like you've got to get going."_

_Maria lifted Damiel's head and his eyes narrowed when he saw Robert and his posse of men trailing behind him. "Here comes our favorite bald Frenchman," Damiel mumbled. Benjamin and Maria stood at attention when Robert stopped in front of them. He nodded in salute and smiled fondly at Maria. She averted her eyes._

_Benjamin looked between the two and cleared his throat. "We are leaving now, my lord?"_

_"_Oui,"_ he replied. He raised his nose when he sneered at Damiel. He gave a disapproving look at the little piles of handiwork the boy made before turning to Benjamin. "I prefer we make haste. The sooner we arrive at Jerusalem, the better, Benjamin." He inclined his head at Damiel and Maria again. He had to stop himself from throwing another punch at Damiel when Maria twirled his curls around her fingers._

_Benjamin gave his two friends pats on their shoulders once Robert left. "I'll be back in a week, you two, so don't try anything stupid when I'm gone. Especially you," Damiel shrunk, "Maria." The woman perked an eyebrow and looked most unimpressed. Benjamin chuckled and knuckled her shoulder before following the five __other men. The boy, however, grinned stupidly with his mouth wide open and chuckled. He was most entertained._

_Damiel and Maria watched as Benjamin and the others exited the city gate and mounted their horses, then sprinted through the Kingdom._

_Damiel leaned back on his crate to look at Maria. A wicked grin spread on his face. "Jerusalem, huh? Think we can stalk them there? You know, find out what all the commotion is about—"_

_"No," she stated flatly. "Our orders are to stay put, Damiel. Don't forget that I'm Robert's steward. It's my job to keep things in order when he's gone."_

_He puckered his mouth and bit his lip. "Where did the word 'steward' even come from, Maria?"_

_"How should I know that? You think I've been alive that long to know the origin of every word?"_

_"Maybe someone made some stew, and—"_

_"I do _not _make Robert stew, Damiel."_

_"—and it has to be nice stew, too. With nice, juicy chunks of beef and potatoes, some onions, a little bit of parsley, perhaps a loaf of bread or two on the side—"_

_She moaned and kicked at his piles of dirt. He squawked and folded his arms like a child. "No, no, and _no. _My job as a steward is not to make Robert stew!"_

_"Well, why's the word 'stew' in it, then?"_

_"_I. Don't. Know."

"—_Maybe a nice cup of milk to wash it down—"_

_"Will you just _be quiet?" _she groaned. "I just want to curl up and sleep."_

_"Sleep? The first thing you want to do on our day off is _sleep? Dios, _Maria!" He squirmed when she tilted his head up by his hair to look him in the eyes. It didn't hurt, but he was still annoyed._

_"Well, Damiel, maybe you should offer a better suggestion." When he jerked his head up with a jolly smile, she crushed his idea with, "And don't even think about asking me to make you stew."_

_He pouted and tapped his foot impatiently._

_"Oh, but think of something to do _after_ you've discovered how painful feminine days can be for women." She let go of his hair and marched away from him. He scratched his head and bounded after her._

_"Fine, fine, we'll take a nap—but only a nap, do you hear me! After that, we're going to have some fun later on and actually do something with our lives! And maybe we'll make some stew later! Alright, Maria? _Oye, _Maria! Are you even listening to me?" When she dutifully waddled away from him with the grace of a beached whale, Damiel stomped his foot and grumbled, "_Maldito!"

* * *

_He was the best man. He was _the _best man. Of the entire Assassin Order. His chest swelled with pride from the thought. He was better than everyone else and the favorite of the Master. Not even Malik, who was helping his brother saddle his horse, could conquer his title. It was only him, Altair Ibn-La'ahad, who held the Master's most appreciation and attention._

_He pulled himself effortlessly onto Farug and smirked down at Malik and his brother, Kadar. "If he does not even know how to tack his own beast, then perhaps he should stay behind and do what he does best: watching those better than him."_

_Malik paused briefly in his demonstration of buckling a saddle. He breathed through his nose, doing his best to ignore the taunt. Kadar hung his head from the comment and sighed sadly. "Maybe he is right, broth—"_

_"There, you see? It isn't so hard once you think about it, brother. Just make sure it isn't too tight around the horse, otherwise you won't be able to ride and it'll most likely buck you off." Malik squeezed his brother's shoulder, earning a smile from the younger A-Sayf. "Up you go," he grunted as he helped Kadar up into the saddle. "Easy, relax. Niyaf is a gentle one. She won't hurt you, Kadar."_

_Altair watched with a smug smirk as Malik mounted his own horse. He urged Farug forward, purposely bumping into Kadar's mount. The novice scrambled in the saddle, grabbing hold of the reins and saddle. Malik swore under his breath and turned to warn Altair to back off, but the man had already dug his heels into Farug's side and was galloping away._

_"Pay him no mind, Kadar," he growled as he snapped his reins._

_

* * *

_

_"Maria! Maria, help!" Damiel ran to his friend and gripped her arms as he hid behind her. "The fat man's trying to kill me!"_

_Maria groaned and scowled as Damiel held her tighter. She just wanted to sleep more; that nap did nothing to help her cramps. Well, she was comfortable and at peace until Damiel decided to jump up and down on her pallet to wake her._

_And now the rascal did just what Benjamin told him not to. He'd only been gone for a few hours, and already trouble was brewing._

_"There he is!"_

_The woman squared her shoulders as two burly men mindlessly bumbled toward her. "Fine evening, isn't it, gents?" she said dryly._

_"'Ey, lass, step aside!" They stood at least a foot taller than herself and crossed their thick and meaty arms over their chests. "That boy hasn't paid yet, and we don't tolerate any funny business."_

_"And we've come to collect!" the other one shouted in agreement. Maria sighed and rubbed her forehead. She could feel a headache start to blossom._

_"How much?" she grumbled. The two men looked shocked that she'd even consider paying, and, thinking it to their advantage, answered with a 'three gold pieces', and then an 'eight gold pieces'. Maria blinked and nodded. She made to pull her coin purse out, and the men relaxed considerably. However, they never saw the punch coming from the woman, or the kick from the boy._

_One of the men's teeth flew right out of his mouth as Maria's fist locked with his jaw. He fell straight on his bottom, while the other fell to his knees to grope a rather sensitive region of the male body. Damiel smirked, obviously satisfied with his work._

_"Oy, you'll be holding the boys for a few more hours, too," Maria mused when she added in another kick. "Circular motions usually help. At least, that's what I've heard, of course," she said as she pointedly glanced at her chest. The man growled like the wounded animal he was, but contented himself with doing just as she said._

_She yanked Damiel, who was busy sticking his tongue out and snickering at the men, with her away from the tavern. "I thought Benjamin said to avoid trouble?" she asked when they were well away from the scene._

_Damiel pouted and jutted his lip at her. "_De veras, _Maria? As if you didn't enjoy yourself back there!"_

_"Did I say that I didn't?" She smirked when he slowly bobbed his head up and down, his face breaking into a large and giddy grin. "Come on, now. We can't just traipse around in our uniforms. Benjamin will have our heads if he finds out that we've been misbehaving, and I wouldn't like Robert finding out either."_

_

* * *

_

_Camping was by no means a stroll through the Garden. Kadar was clumsy and inexperienced, and when he had tried to dismount his horse, he ended up falling face first into the ground, resulting in him cutting his chin on a stone. Malik was dabbing the wound with a cloth, murmuring to his sibling about being more careful._

_Altair snorted to himself as he sat back against the tree, his arms folded confidently in front of himself. He'd like to think that this was only his mission and that Malik and Kadar were sent to go with him only to see how an Assassin should truly act. He'd be sure to show them once they reached Jerusalem. For now, he'd have to settle amusing himself with Malik and his ridiculous brother. How were they even allowed in the Creed?_

_Malik dug in his saddlebag and pulled out a loaf of bread. He tore it in half and offered the other piece to Kadar, who gratefully accepted. Altair watched in disgust and interest as he shoved the bread into his mouth. When he told him that they would not stop to eat, he could almost hear the novice's stomach sink in his body. Oh well, it wasn't his problem anyway._

_Altair narrowed his eyes beneath his hood at the boy, and as if he could sense he did something wrong, Kadar's shoulders slumped. Malik sent a glare at Altair before sitting down next to him beside the fire._

_Altair rolled his eyes and snuggled further into the tree. They were talking about nonsense, now, laughing here and there with each other. And of course they never brought him in the conversation—_

_No. He was the best. He didn't need their company. He didn't need anyone's company. Adha's death was proof of that. He didn't need anyone._

_

* * *

_

_Benjamin wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and slowed his horse down to a trot. His helmet was making the heat even more unbearable. The metal got so hot to a point that it singed his flesh more than once. He lifted the burden off and rode parallel to Robert._

_All his French commander told him was that what they were going to retrieve from Jerusalem would determine the winner between the brutal war of Assassin's and Templar's. Benjamin thought they were going to retrieve a woman. After all, marriages strengthened bonds between countries, and if King Richard's army grew, then certainly the Templar's would as well. Was that what they were after?_

_He wondered if Maria and Damiel were alright. He hoped that the boy didn't go jumping into more situations again. He chuckled aloud from the thought. Robert raised an eyebrow, but Benjamin dismissed the unspoken question with a small shake of his head._

_Damiel was certainly one of his kind. He was always laughing, always jesting and getting into Maria's hair. The woman could do with a few harmless pranks and tricks here and there. He noticed a considerable change in her personality ever since she recruited Damiel four years ago, and it was a nice change. She seemed happier and smiled more._

_They were both helping each other, in a way. She was teaching Damiel how to trust again, while Damiel was having her relearn the feeling of enjoyment. Benjamin knew that she was too young to kill when she first did—only sixteen summers were on her shoulders! But yet, Damiel was younger when he first shed blood. He only had three and ten years. All the killing, all the dying, all the blood—people shouldn't have to kill in order to resolve conflicts. There were more civilized methods to solve problems other than war, he was certain of that._

_But war wasn't completely bad. He'd gained a daughter and a son from the Crusades, after all. Without war, he never would have met Maria or Damiel. He had a family to look after now, something he missed when his wife died and his sons grew older. Now he had pesky Damiel and irritable Maria in his life._

_He closed his eyes, mumbling a prayer of 'thanks' to the Lord. He'd be grateful for all eternity for having Damiel and Maria._

_

* * *

_

_The underparts of Solomon's Temple were unstable and being held up by scaffolds that looked like they'd break any moment. Kadar shifted uncomfortably as his feet hit the soft and dank earth of the cavern. It felt too congested in the cavern. The air was stuffy and there were leaks in the ceiling. It made him feel clammy and stiff at the same time._

_He didn't like this place, and he could tell Malik didn't either. He kept close to his brother who offered a warm squeeze to his arm. They smiled at each other, both of them nervous for different reasons._

_Altair landed neatly without the smallest hint of effort on his part. He strode ahead of the two A-Sayf's as if he knew the place inside and out. Malik muttered as he gently pushed Kadar in front of him. The novice rammed into Altair's back as the man came to an unannounced stop. Kadar immediately hunched his shoulders and murmured an apology when Altair threw his head back to glare at the boy._

_Malik strained his ears and followed Altair's lead as they kept their backs to the cavern. They slowly crept toward a corner, stopping just before turning into the new corridor. What they heard was wheezing and panting, most likely from an elderly man._

_Altair slowly looked past the corner, smirking when he saw an old man on his knees. His feet were bare as his slippers were scattered in the corridor. He obviously took a fall, and he obviously was in pain._

_'_Good,' _Altair thought to himself. '_Then I shall relieve him of his suffering.' _He silently sprung forward, unsheathing his hidden blade just as he leapt onto the man._

_He heard Malik hiss from the corner, "Wait! This one need not die!" But he was too late. He grabbed the old man by his hair, yanked him backward, and drove his hidden blade into the tender and wrinkled flesh of his neck. He let the man fall to his side, his eyes lifeless and blood pooling beneath him. With the corners of his mouth twitching with satisfaction, he sheathed his blade with a comforting _shink! _and made to go ahead._

_That is, he would have, had it not been for Kadar._

_"An excellent kill," he nervously congratulated, probably as a way to compensate for bumping into him earlier. "Fortune favors your blade." He bowed humbly before Altair, causing his ego to inflate._

_"Not fortune," Altair snapped in correction, "skill." Kadar bit his lip. He wasn't going to earn forgiveness any time soon. "Watch a while longer and you might learn something," he haughtily finished._

_"Indeed," Malik coldly remarked after seeing his brother internally scold himself. "He'll teach you how to disregard everything the Master's taught us." The hair on the back of Altair's neck rose from the comment._

_"And how would you have done it?" he snapped at the man. He crossed his arms over his well-built chest as Malik explained._

_"I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent," he said accusingly as he gestured toward the dead man. "What I would have done is follow the Creed—"_

_"Nothing is true, everything is permitted," Altair interrupted with a roll of his eyes. He felt power snake its way into him again as he saw Kadar looking back and forth between him and his brother, obviously trying to decide which man to listen to. "Understand these words. It matters not how we complete our task, only that it's done."_

_"But this is not the way—"_

_"My way is better," Altair spoke matter-of-factly. It amused him to see Malik's nostrils flare from being interrupted not once, but twice._

_"I will scout ahead," Malik finally said as he broke the staredown between himself and Altair. "Try not to dishonor us further." He stayed true to his word as he jogged through the tunnel, leaping across scaffoldings._

_Kadar shyly and nervously cleared his throat. The only acknowledgment he earned from Altair was his head looking down at the boy. "What is our mission? My brother would say nothing to me—only that I should be honored to have been invited."_

_'_And honored you should feel,' _Altair thought smugly. "The Master believes the Templar's have found something beneath the temple mountain."_

_"Treasure?" Kadar made a step forward, obviously excited of the idea of diamonds, jewelry, and gold._

_"I do not know. All that matters is that the Master considers it important, else he would not have asked me to retrieve it." Kadar didn't miss how the other man emphasized the 'me' in his statement. Sensing that the conversation was at its end, he took a mellow step back and waved for Altair to go ahead. The Assassin threw his head up from the motion and moved through the tunnel._

_

* * *

_

_"Old Matthew should be here by now, shouldn't he?" Benjamin asked as he clambered down the broken shelves and platforms. "We were expecting him to be at the entrance, weren't we?"_

_Robert furrowed his eyebrows and nodded. "_L'alerte de séjour, les hommes._"_

_

* * *

_

_"Oh, Maria! _Tú haces él caliente en los pantalones!" _Damiel laughed as he pushed Maria out of the way. Then, without any further warning, his eyebrows tented together and he drew Riva from her sheath on his back. "And I don't like the way you're looking at her, _bastardo." _He swung Riva horizontally at the guard, his spear clanging noisily against the other man's sword. Quickly changing tactics, he lunged forward with his body and twisted Riva against the blade. He smacked his forehead against the guard's and brought his spear's opposite end down on his shoulder._

_The man fell to the ground, crying out as one of Riva's spikes dug through his chainmail and ripped at __flesh. Damiel spat on the ground as he scrambled to his feet and ran away. "And don't let me catch you looking at her that way again, _basura!" _Content that the guard would not come back, he sheathed Riva and smiled at his friend. "Are you hurt?"_

_Maria stood and dusted her bottom off. "No, no, I'm quite alright. Could have handled him myself, though. I was actually looking forward to a fight," she sighed with disappointment. "You gutted my fun, you weasel."_

_Damiel shrugged and grinned. "As long as you aren't hurt, then I'm sure we can find some more fun—on my mark!"_

_"Pardon?" She frowned and placed a hand on her hip. She raised an eyebrow when the boy tensed his muscles. "Augh, I do _not _want to race, you stupid boy! Did you not understand me when I spoke of feminine pains?"_

_The boy rolled his eyes and stretched his arms and legs. "Oh, but yet you have the strength to beat a few guards up?"_

_Maria opened her mouth to defend herself, but she knew that he was right. And she _hated it _when Damiel was right. Groaning, she reluctantly replied, "Fine. On your mark."_

_Damiel's face brightened and he sprung back on his feet. "One," he looked over at Maria and smiled, "two," he braced his feet in the ground and swallowed, "three!"_

_

* * *

_

"_There! That must be the Ark!"_

_Kadar peered over the edge of the structure, one hand gripping Malik's arm. His eyes locked on a brilliant golden container. It looked more like a pot with intricate designs on it than the Ark. On closer examination, the table it rested on looked a bit like an altar. Perhaps it _was _the Ark. He smiled nervously and asked,"The... Ark? Of the Covenant?" Malik nodded and pointed at the object._

_"Don't be silly," Altair scoffed as he joined them on the platform. "There's no such thing; it's just a story."_

_"Then what is it?" Kadar challenged. He could handle Altair picking at his poor abilities like the vulture he was, but when it came down to personal beliefs and opinions, he was not one to stand ridicule._

_Altair bared his teeth, insulted that the novice would even consider questioning him, and made to reply. He was cut off when Malik suddenly snapped at the two of them, "Quiet! Someone's coming!" Altair grudgingly followed Malik's and Kadar's suit as they knelt and turned their gaze over to the men entering the room._

_"I want us through this gate before sunrise!" The unmistakable foreign accent filled their ears as they continued to spy. "The sooner we possess it, the sooner we can turn our attention to those jackals at Masyaf!"_

_"Robert de Sable!" Altair stood and backed away from the edge. "His life is mine!" He kept his eyes on Robert as he moved toward the ladder._

_"No," Malik interfered, grabbing his arm. "We were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."_

_"He stands between us and it!" Altair barked. "I'd say it's necessary."_

_"Discretion, Altair!"_

_"You mean cowardice," he challenged with his ever-so arrogant tone. "That man is our greatest enemy, and here we have a chance to be rid of him."_

_"You have already broken two tenets of our Creed," Malik countered, "now you would break the third. Do not compromise the Brotherhood!"_

_"I am your superior," he growled, "in both title and ability. You should know better than to question me!" He turned his back to Malik before he could say anything further. He quickly descended the ladders, eager to prove the other man wrong. He was the best. Nothing could hurt him. He'd show them._

_"Hold, Templar's!"_

_

* * *

_

_Benjamin filed into the room right behind Robert, immediately scanning his surroundings. Nothing was askew, as far as he could tell. He comfortably rested his hand on the hilt of Dynamo, knowing that unfamiliar territory would always be dangerous no matter what._

_The other men took their positions in the room, obeying Robert's orders and trying to find a way to retrieve the—treasure?_

_He came all this way for a ridiculous lump of gold? Benjamin gripped Dynamo tighter. Robert could have pestered someone else about this, certainly. Maybe he _should _have brought Damiel along. Damiel was good at climbing things. The boy would have that treasure in a heartbeat, and the rest of them wouldn't have to spend hours on end conjuring up a ladder._

_Benjamin darted his eye forward as a scuffling sound reached his ears. He knew it: he wasn't alone._

_"Hold, Templar's!"_

_The soldier blinked, not expecting someone to purposely compromise their cover. They were doing a good job staying hidden. Benjamin most certainly wasn't expecting an Assassin, of all people, to come marching __over to him and his comrades. Behind the killer were two more men, one obviously more inexperienced than the others. Benjamin started to calculate their strengths and weaknesses, sizing each man up appropriately._

_"You are not the only ones with business here!"_

_"Ah," Robert snickered, obviously anticipating the entrance of the enemy. "Well, _this _explains my missing man." Benjamin sighed. Matthew was a good soldier—a bit hasty, but a good man. "And what is it _you _want?" Robert didn't even need to raise his head or straighten his back. He was already a good head taller than the Assassin. Benjamin's fellow soldiers laughed under their breath when the Assassin was forced to tilt his chin up._

_The Assassin's blood prickled and boiled beneath his skin. His other two allies stood nearby, one with their legs spread, ready for battle, and the other hanging back._

_Altair moved forward, the one word escaping his lips before he lunged at Robert. "Blood." It was a graceful and powerful leap, Benjamin had to say, but it was ruined when the alert Assassin rushed forward and grabbed the other man's arm, a crisp and loud shout of '_NO!' _piercing the air._

_The Assassin stumbled forward. He still drew his hidden blade, eager to still have Robert's life. He would have tripped right past the man if Robert didn't bring his fist to the Assassin's head, sending him backward. Before he could hit the ground, the Templar Grandmaster grabbed the Assassin's arms, restraining him from any movement. The Assassin desperately jerked his left arm, trying to drive the blade into the man's skull._

_Robert leaned forward, teasing the man with how close, yet far, he was away from the blade. "You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin," he hissed. His mouth was curving into a cruel grin as the man continued to struggle. Finally, having power over the enemy! "I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message: the Holy Land is lost to him and his! He should flee now, while he still has the chance. Stay, and all of you will _die."

_Tightening his hold on the man's arms, Robert clenched his teeth and grunted as he threw the man into the entry he and his guards had once used. The Assassin tumbled right through a scaffold barely holding the entry in place, and snapped the wood. Pillars and wooden beams collapsed, blocking the entrance._

_Benjamin smiled sadly. The Assassin was probably effective in a fight. He was just too brash and impatient. If he worked on that, he'd probably be a better person altogether._

_"Men! To arms! Kill the Assassin's!"_

_

* * *

_

_"Slow down, you red-necked, belly-flopping, goose hatching twit!" Maria panted as she dashed through the dirtied streets of Acre. "My God, Damiel, why can't you show this much energy when in training?" Slowing down to catch her breath, she leaned against the side of a building. Gasping, she closed her eyes. She felt as if her legs were going to fall off with all the running she'd been doing. It was 'Maria, catch me if you can!' and then 'Hah, you're so slow!' and then 'Come on, keep up with me!' again and again and again. It was too much for her._

_The race became a chase when Damiel kept speeding ahead of her and motioning her forward. She grimaced and rubbed her lower back. This was too much for a woman with cramps. But Damiel didn't care, why would he? He just wanted to have some leisure time._

_"_Oye! _What're you doing down there, Maria?"_

_Maria tilted her head back to see Damiel standing on top of the building. He grinned happily down at her and waved for her to come up. "You've got to be jesting," she grumbled when he remained adamant in his gestures. "There is no way in the world or Heaven that I'm climbing this building."_

_"Oh, come on, Maria! It isn't so bad—here, I'll help you!"_

_"Help me?" she asked incredulously. "Help me how? Go find me some nice warm coals for my back if you want to help me! And a nice, comfortable bed with plump pillows! And some hot tea and stew to warm me up!"_

_"I thought you said you didn't want to make stew, though!" He chuckled and shook his head when she growled. "You really are hard to negotiate with, you know?"_

_"And you prove more and more difficult to tolerate," she snapped back. "Get your smelly arse down here already. Fun time's over, it's time for bed, Damiel."_

_"You aren't my mother," he grinned. "You can't tell me what to do."_

_"Oh, I can't, can I? I'm only your superior, am I not?"_

_"Yes, but, we're off duty, remember? Like Benny said, this is a vacation for us. So, technically, we aren't part of the Crusades or Templar Order. We're just Damiel and Maria, two people visiting Acre. No titles, no labels, no nothing. Just names."_

_Maria blew from her mouth and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Damiel, I'm serious. You come down here—" She swiveled her head upward when she heard him shuffling away from the edge of the building. "You aren't leading me on another chase, you little turkey!" He popped his head over the side of the house to smirk at her._

_"Watch me."_

_

* * *

_

_Kadar couldn't feel his legs as the soldiers charged at him. His hand rattled so much around the hilt of his sword that the weapon shook uncontrollably. He'd never been in an actual fight before. It was only the training ring that he was accustomed to. Whenever a man was wounded too badly to fight, they'd receive care from the healers._

_But not that day. No, this was a fight to the death. There would be no words of wisdom from Rauf, no encouragement from his Brothers—_

_Malik turned just in time to see his brother take a few steps back. He looked like he'd bolt at any moment. The older Assassin shook his head, battling the choice whether to fight or not. Perhaps flight was the answer, and if they could make it back up the ladder in time..._

_His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the grunt of one of the soldiers. The man swung his sword at the Assassin, and Malik barely had enough time to deflect the blow. With their swords locked together, the Assassin unsheathed his hidden blade and plunged it into the man's abdomen. He stared down at the puncture as Malik withdrew the blade from his gut. Blood stained his white tunic, and the soldier slumped to the floor._

_He heard Kadar scream, then. Instinct told him to save his brother no matter what, but his training told him to eliminate all other threats first. Gritting his teeth together, he readied himself as another soldier barreled toward him._

_He was glad that these soldiers were rushing their opponents. They clearly hadn't taken the time to size them up and had underestimated them. Malik sidestepped away from the man, easily dodging the attack. The Crusader stumbled awkwardly forward, unbalanced by his blade not connecting with anything. Malik plunged his hidden blade into his neck, then roughly threw the corpse into another soldier coming right at him. He barely registered that it was just Robert himself that he'd thrown the soldier into._

_Panting and glancing about for his brother, he almost screamed in relief when he saw him climbing the wall and using the footholds to his advantage. If Kadar was good at one thing, it was climbing._

_But there was a soldier, broadsword drawn and bloodied, shadowing Kadar's every move from the floor. Malik made to kill the man stalking and waiting for his brother, but Robert chose that exact moment to throw the body of his fallen man off of himself and plant his feet firmly on the ground. The Templar Grandmaster's cheek was bleeding from the fall he took, and he was standing in the way of Malik and his target._

_But Robert never had the chance to attack. Malik looked up as Kadar shouted again, and he was horrified at what he saw. He had the treasure in his hand, but he was falling backward on the platform. His foot slipped on the edge and he came tumbling down, the treasure flying from his grasp and hitting Robert in the back of his head. The Templar flew forward, a shout spewing from his mouth, and fell to the floor._

_Malik smirked from the scene, but all his mirth was swept away as Kadar landed heavily on his belly with a painful '_oof!' _The soldier with the broadsword charged at his brother. He was only a few feet away and—_

_"_KADAR!"

* * *

_Kadar blinked and groaned. He grunted from the pain and tried to bring himself back up. Every bone ached and every muscle screamed at him to stay put. He did just that when panic gripped his heart. He saw a pair of boots right in front of him, and they didn't belong to his brother._

_He closed his eyes as one of the boots turned him on his back. He slowly opened his eyes to gaze into that of his killer. He couldn't bring himself to look at the sword raised above his body, ready to fall and end his life—_

_"_KADAR!" _The Assassin refused to look and braced himself for death. But he never felt the stinging bite of the soldier's blade. He heard a snarl, then felt pressure on his neck. His eyes flew open as he saw his brother combating the soldier holding him down with his foot. He could feel his boot crushing his windpipe, slowly choking the life from him._

_Malik swung his blade with everything he was worth, rapidly sending strike after strike, only having them blocked just as quickly by the other soldier. He bared his teeth as he desperately fought on, determined to save his brother's life. He was all he had left, he couldn't lose him! All the days teaching him, all the nights spent telling stories, all the meals shared and all the laughter heard! He couldn't, he just _couldn't.

_The soldier stepped back, unpinning Kadar from his boot. A vertical swing from the Crusader had Malik leap to the side. His heart froze as he did so._

_The blade, instead of slicing through Malik, the blade descended and dug itself into another's flesh. Malik felt his knees weaken as the broadsword swept across his brother's neck. The Assassin felt a ringing in his ears as he deftly heard his brother gurgle, his cry for help never sounding, before leaving the world. Shock took hold of his body and had him rooted to the spot, denying his muscles the right to move from the lunge the Crusader made._

_The pain is what ripped him from his trance. He screamed, staggering backward and clutching his arm. The blade trailed from his elbow to his wrist, cutting into the flesh and tearing it off. His pupils became pinpoint as he stared at the blood dripping from his left arm, the flesh just dangling there._

_

* * *

_

_"_Dios, _Maria! I had to _climb _the tower, barely having any footholds, and I _still _made it up here faster than you!" Damiel whined as Maira threw open the bolted door and slowly sat down on the floor. "Perhaps running through the stronghold wasn't a good idea," he chuckled._

_"No, really? What made you think that?" she spat at him. Her bleeding was _killing _her. She had to drag herself up the endless flights of stairs, moaning and complaining to herself all the while._

_He ignored her comment and sat on the tower's edge. "The ocean is beautiful, no?"_

_"Mhm, gorgeous, breathtaking, outstanding," she muttered as she crawled into a corner and hugged her knees to herself. "Now can we call it a day and go to sleep?"_

_He clicked his tongue and shook his head vigorously, frowning at her. "But it's so early yet! We've hours before morning—"_

_"It's nighttime, you buffoon!"_

_"Your point is? Maria, we never have time to just relax and enjoy ourselves! It's always, 'start marching', or 'pick up your feet', and my favorite 'you _merd _of a human, keep pace with us!'" he whined, mimicking Robert's accent. "I just want a little excitement—"_

_"Oh? Excitement, is it? And no one invited me?"_

_Maria groaned and hid her face in her knees. "Please, don't tell me that's—"_

_"Hildegard!" Damiel shouted happily when he looked over the tower's edge. "What brings you to Acre?"_

_"What brings you up a tower?" she called back from the battlements. "And what's the meaning of not including me in the games?"_

_"Games?" Maria spat. She stood up then and peered over the tower, shaking her fist in the air. "You want games, you miserable frog? I'll _GIVE _you games! Get your bloody behind up here, and we'll see who's liking the games—"_

_"I prefer not to dirty myself up," Hildegard sniffed, absently examining her hands. "Perhaps you should come down here, instead?"_

_"_HAH! _When pigs fly, you backward gangplank!" Maria viciously shouted back. "You probably can't even _CLIMB _a tower! Well, pity on you! Shame, shame!" She tilted her head to the side when she noticed a furry being wagging its tail beside Hildegard. "Oh, and what's this? Stealing my dog, are you? Now you have more reason to settle this out with me face to face!"_

_"Dear, you shouldn't keep opening your mouth," Hildegard sighed as she scratched Bayo behind the ears. "I'd hate it if you swallowed any pigeon droppings from up there."_

_"What did you say? _WHAT DID YOU SAY? _How about you say it to my face, you—_DAMIEL!" _Maria screamed as the boy's arms wrapped around her waist, carrying her as he dashed the short distance to the narrow wooden ledge sticking out from the tower. "What are you—_YOU IDIOT!" _She screamed bloody murder as the boy leapt from the ledge to land in the cart of hay below._

* * *

_He did the only thing he could do to survive. He ran. Pumping whatever energy he had left in his muscles, he ran the distance to the treasure lying only two or three yards from Robert. Scooping the sphere in his his only good hand, he climbed the ladders out of the cavern. Tears streaked his sweaty and dirty face as he left his brother behind._

_Benjamin watched as the Assassin fled. He sighed, choosing not to give chase. Too much blood was already shed that day, and no more casualties needed to be added. Sheathing Dynamo, he knelt and slowly pulled the hood back from the Assassin at his feet. He recoiled instantly, his eyes widening upon the sight._

_He was just a boy still, maybe a year or two older than Damiel. His lifeless dark blue eyes stared right at him. The Assassin was frozen forever into that terrified face. Benjamin took a step back, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. The killer was hoping with everything he was worth that his brother would save him, and Benjamin, he... he _murdered _someone._

_It was not an honorable kill, nor an intentional one. He blinked, bringing his hand up to his face as shame tugged at him. What had he just done? Who was the heartless killer now? He stared silently at the boy, not even acknowledging Robert as he groaned and finally stood up from his heap on the floor. The Templar Grandmaster rubbed the back of his head, looking back and forth between Benjamin and the other remaining soldier._

_"Well?" he demanded. "Where is the treasure?" When Benjamin kept quiet, the other man timidly answered with an 'it's gone, m'lord'. Robert's fury escalated to that of a raging volcano's as he filled the cavern with a morbid and gruesome '_WHAT?'

_"The Assassin escaped," Benjamin murmured. "Your orders, sir?"_

_"What do you think my orders are?" Robert snarled as he stormed over to Benjamin. "Why, let's all just head back to Acre empty handed! Let's just all pretend that none of this ever happened and that the Assassin's never showed! Let's just all hold hands and act like everything is fine!" He spat at the corpse on the ground. Benjamin winced._

_"I was merely asking, my Lordship," the man sighed. "Will you pursue the Assassin?"_

_"Of course I will pursue the Assassin! But I don't think I'll be wanting you along with me, Benjamin. Did you let the man escape?" Benjamin averted his eyes. Robert's mouth twitched as he grabbed the man by his throat. "I said: _did you let the man escape?"

_"No, Robert," Benjamin choked. "I was preoccupied with the Assassin lying only a foot from you, my liege."_

_Robert roughly removed his hold from Benjamin's neck. "The next time you fault, Benjamin, I may be the one to remove your other eye. You!" He pointed at the other guard. "You and I ride for Masyaf. We will gather whatever men we can on the way, even removing them from their posts if we must! And _you," _he turned toward Benjamin, "I want you at Acre. You disappointed me today, Benjamin. You belong with that foreign dog you call friend."_

_Benjamin bowed his head and murmured a 'yes'. He stayed in the cavern until he was certain Robert and the other Crusader left. When only he remained, he looked back at the lifeless boy._

_

* * *

_

Altair looked at Rauf in question at what Malik had just said. "Explain yourself, Brother," he grounded out. Malik was still writhing and jerking his body this way and that, even with Rauf helping to restrain him.

"Why don't you ask _him!_" he barked. Maria stood protectively in front of Benjamin, her face flushed and eyes glowing with merciless hatred.

"I think you're in need of more explanations than _he _is," she snapped. "After all, _you're _the one behaving like an animal!"

Malik thrust his body forward, almost breaking free of Altair and Rauf. "I need not say a _word _in front of that _yebnen kelp!" _He attempted again, slamming forward with such force that had Rauf smack into one of the bookshelves. A few books and scrolls fell, some dangerously teetering on the edges of their shelves. "So what did you do to him afterward, you _khara?_"

Benjamin balled his hands into fists and grimly replied, "Nothing."

"Oh? Who do you think you're trying to fool, you," he paused when Altair threatened to break his only arm, "you _kalb!" _He actually did fling himself forward successfully. Altair almost choked when he saw Maria tense and brace herself to fend off Malik. If he couldn't do it, he very much doubted that she could, even if she was a strong woman.

He felt lightheaded as Malik was only a foot away from her—"

"_Sic!"_

Bayo responded immediately to the command. He sprung himself forward, knocking right into Malik and sending him on his backside. The dog pounced onto him, growling and baring his teeth at the man. He kept his paws planted firmly on his shoulders, using all his weight to keep him down.

Altair wasted only a fraction of a second to feel relief before he pinned Malik down as well.

Maria followed suit by sitting on the man's knees. She heard Benjamin take an intake of breath, probably about to say something—

"Oh, Maria! Oh, there you are! Mustafa and I have been looking for you most everywhere, and here we find you—" Hildegard paused as she stood in front of the men, woman and dog. "What in the name of my undergarments is _going on _here?"

Maria snorted and winced when Malik shot a knee into her bottom. "Why don't you ask around, Hildegard? I'm sure there are plenty of volunteers just waiting to explain to you," she humorlessly remarked. Hildegard looked to Benjamin for an answer.

"I gave him a proper burial," the veteran finally whispered, "fit for any fallen Brother."

"He was no Brother to you—he was _my brother!" _Malik screeched from his position on the floor. "Have you ever lost someone _right in front of you_? Knowing that it was your fault? Knowing that you should have never dodged the attack?"

Benjamin closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"No, you _haven't! _Don't even try to save your sorry life with the excuse of 'I gave him a proper burial'!"

Maria blinked. "But he _did," _she murmured. She looked away at the bookshelf as she lost herself in thought. "He did, though," she stated again, more for her reassurance. "I was there—so was Hildegard. And Damiel—"

"Did you say 'Damiel'?" Rauf asked with a shocked expression on his face.

Maria nodded and continued, "And Bayo was there, too, as a matter of fact. Benjamin," she looked up at him, "you said the prayers and burned the body."

"Pardon?" Hildegard stubbornly put her hands on her hips. "Maria, perhaps I heard you incorrectly, but, did you say that _I _was at this funeral? I'm sorry, love, but I only do weddings and births, not funer—"

"You were there," Benjamin said in a hushed tone.

"Do you mean that corpse you dragged back with you after Solomon's Temple?" Hildegard bluntly asked. Malik grunted from the floor. "The boy that you insisted we send to the next life?"

"Yes, Hildegard. The boy I brought back with me from Solomon's Temple."

* * *

_"Now, you know never to run away again, don't you?" Maria scolded as she held onto the horse's reins. "You be a good girl and munch on your hay like what horses are supposed to do. No more chasing rabbits, hm?" She pat the beast on the neck, smiling from the ridiculous chase the animal gave her. In some ways, it was worse than Damiel. Chuckling, she kissed the velvety muzzle and offered a carrot. The horse gobbled it up in a heartbeat._

_"Eugh, no wonder you're Hildegard's horse. You're both little gluts," she blandly stated. She turned her head as the sound of another horse reached her ears. She smiled when she recognized the rider to be no other than Benjamin. "Of course you show up when the struggle's over, Benny!" she laughed playfully._

_He guided his mount right past Maria. She frowned when she saw a cloaked bundle also on the saddle. Giving a final pat to Hildegard's horse, she jogged over to her friend. He dismounted and leaned his forehead against the saddle._

_"Benjamin?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, gasping when she felt him heaving. "Are you—is everything alright? Benjamin, speak to me!" She pulled on his shoulder and he faced her. She frowned and opened her mouth when she saw tears spilling from his eye. "Benjamin, what happened?" Maria placed a warm hand on his cheek._

_"God strike me down," he breathed out, "for I have sinned more than a man could ever in one lifetime."_

_"Benjamin, what are you talking about? Are we under attack? Did the Assassin's do this to you? Why won't you—" She gasped as he lifted a small corner of the cloak, exposing a deathly pale and horrified face. "Benjamin?" she whispered._

_"He was just a boy," he whimpered, leaning his head against Maria's shoulder. "I didn't know until he was dead, and—and—it was all my fault—his brother was there, and I—I _killed _him, not even knowing—"_

_Maria's arms held Benjamin to herself as he wept into her shoulder. "Benjamin, it isn't your fault, you didn't know, you were only following orders—"_

_"I killed a _boy _today, Maria," he argued. "I killed an _innocent _person. God, what have I done? I might as well have killed Damiel!"_

_"Don't say such things, Benjamin Mills," she warned. She pulled him back to look him in the eyes. "If you believe that you have sinned, then repent—"_

_"Maria, _look at him."

_She held Benjamin's gaze for brief seconds before locking her eyes with the dead Assassin's. Her grey stayed on his dark, nearly-black, blue eyes. Her jaw fell slack as she could feel her eyelids prickling with tears._

_"I took his life without a second thought," Benjamin shakily said as he covered his face with his hands. "And what if it was Damiel that died? What if... what if _we _fail to keep him safe? What would that make of us? What would we feel? What would his killers feel?"_

_Maria sucked her bottom lip in as she hesitantly ran her hand through the boy's hair. "How did—" Her question was answered as she trailed her hand down his neck. She felt the dried and crispy line of blood from the slash on his throat. "Oh, God..." She felt her insides twist and turn from the idea of being almost beheaded._

_"I plan on giving him a proper and fit burial," Benjamin announced. He cupped his hands around his nose and closed his eyes. "Go and bring Damiel," he whispered._

_Maria blinked and shook her head. "What? Y-you can't be serious, Benjamin! This is nothing he should see!"_

_"And this," he motioned toward the corpse, "is nothing anyone should go through. Children do not deserve to experience war or the consequences of lifting a blade!" His voice grew harder as he straightened his shoulders. "I know it is nothing for him to see, Maria. But this boy deserves to be recognized and laid to rest. Now, go, and bring Damiel."_

_She sighed and inclined her head. "What of Hildegard and Bayo, Benjamin?"_

_"Bring them as well. I want them to see what war and hatred brings," he snarled. Maria nodded and hurried off to do as he told. Benjamin glanced at the body again, his face crinkling together as he choked, "I am so sorry."_

_

* * *

_

_The five of them watched silently out of respect as flames licked away at the raft. Hildegard bowed her head, murmuring a prayer beneath her breath. Maria had her hands clasped in front of her, staring at the burning coffin._

_"_Quaesumus in paradiso pax, Frater," _Benjamin prayed aloud. __"_Dimitte nobis peccata fecimus vobis et vicissim interrogo veniam a Domino est."

_Damiel never took his eyes off the raft. He swallowed the lumps in his throat in an attempt to subside the anger coursing through his veins. He saw the body before it burned, saw how the corpse couldn't have been more than two years older than himself. His fists shook violently._

_"_Nos quinque nos memorabitur tui usque ad diem mortis suscipe. Fratresque recordabuntur vos, pro vobis et pugnaverunt viriliter bene. I nunc, ut in armis Dei tui. Amen."

_Damiel whirled around and raged through the docks once Benjamin had concluded his prayer and pocketed the necklace he'd found on the body. He felt close to tears as he felt someone grab his arm. He whipped backward, intent on slugging the interloper—_

_"Damiel?" Maria. Of course, it _had _to be Maria._

_"Just let me go," he hissed as he shook her hand from him. "I don't want to hear it."_

_"Damiel, please, just listen to—"_

_"_NO!" _He turned on her, then, pacing up to her with a gruesome and terrible face. "_YOU listen to ME! _Is this the end, then?" he motioned toward the raft. "Is that what we'll end up as? Ash? Is that what we're fighting for?"_

_"Damiel, what are you—"_

_"Is this all that we're looking forward to? Lying dead on a burning piece of wood? Well, I won't have it! I won't serve a cause just to have my neck slashed open!" He backed away from Maria when she took a step forward. "_NO! _J-just stay away from me! All of you!" he added when he saw the others behind her. "You all lied to me! You said that I'd be free by joining the Templar's! Well, all I see is another form of enslavement! Only this time, we're held prisoner by our beliefs, and will only have the shackles removed from our wrists when we die!"_

_Maria sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Damiel—"_

_"I don't want to hear your apologies!" he shrieked. His lower lip quivered. "I don't want to be around you people any longer! You're poison, do you hear that? You are all poison! You're waiting to grow close to me just so that when you die, you can watch from the Heaven you believe in as I suffer! Well, I won't just stay put and allow that to happen! I—"_

_"Damiel, please, stop," Maria sniffed as she flung her arms around the boy, pulling him into a tight and almost choking embrace. "Not another word, Damiel, not another word." She felt him shake and struggle to hold back his cries, but soon he couldn't. He shamelessly clung onto her, grabbing her tunic in his hands and burying his face into her shoulder. She felt his tears soak through the fabric, as well as her own._

_"Please, don't leave me, Maria," he managed to choke out. "Please, don't ever leave me alone."_

_"I won't, Damiel, I won't," she whispered back. She felt more arms wrap around her as Hildegard and Benjamin joined in on the embrace. _

_"We're your family now, Damiel, and we aren't going anywhere."_

_Behind them, in the distance of the port, the fire finally finished consuming its host. Smoke replaced the flames reaching for the sky._

_

* * *

_

Benjamin breathed in through his mouth as his nose became stuffy from crying. "Your brother was not disgraced after I killed him. He went on to the next life with our blessings, as well as God's."

The man on the floor swallowed hard, his muscles slowly relaxing. Malik's occasional tantrums died down from the explanation. He blinked, trying to see through the tears, but decided such efforts were pointless. He'd blamed Kadar's death on Altair for the past three years, but never once did he ever consider that it just... _was. _And now, admitting that to himself...

His eyes were screwed shut as one tear after another slid down the sides of his face.

"That's why your eyes were so familiar," Maria drawled quietly. "They're the same as his."

"His were blue," Malik corrected. "Dark blue."

"Blue, brown, what does a color have to say about what an eye actually holds?" She bit her lip and fisted her hand in her lap. Her anger soon melted into sorrow as tears formed. Her eyes widened when Altair's hand closed over her own. She saw him through the blur of her tears and eyelashes. He was staring at the floor, appearing to be deep in thought.

Glancing to and fro the men in the room with her beady eyes, Hildegard tapped her foot impatiently. She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. "I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I believe we are _forgetting something_." When no one made to even look at her, she grumbled, "Two apologies, perhaps?"

"No," Benjamin placed a hand on her shoulder. "He does not need to apologize for acting the way he did. I would have reacted the same, if it was my brother who was killed."

"You don't have a brother," Maria murmured. Altair squeezed her hand.

"No," he agreed, "but Franklin is like a brother to me anyway, isn't he?"

Hildegard shoved her way over to Malik and looked down at him. "Well, what about you, hm? Do you want an apology from him?"

Malik swallowed and opened one eye to glare at her. "He killed my brother," he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "and stole what little meaning to life I had." His nostrils flared as he reasoned aloud, "I also lost an arm because of him. Do you know what else I've lost due to no longer having that limb? No? I've lost the privilege to take on missions, I've lost the right to wield the Assassin's symbolic weapon, and I have also suffered endless ridicule and unnecessary torment from my Brothers."

"I cannot balme you for-"

"And furthermore," Malik raged on, "I can still _feel _my arm, though it is not there. Do you know how much it haunts me? Day and night? No, you don't. Do you have a constant reminder of your past faults a _part _of you? Do you know the feeling of loneliness, believing that everything you've held dear is gone, yet knowing that only finding new reason to live is the only way to survive?"

Maria, without any warning, sprang up from the floor to stare horrors into Malik's eyes. "That's enough from you. You think you're the only victim here? You honestly think you're the only one who's ever lost someone? Look at us, Malik. Benjamin's lost his eye due to Assassin's, Hildegard's lost a family because of fighting for what she believes in-"

"I don't think it's appropriate to include me in this, Maria-"

"No, Hildegard!" She pointed right at the woman. "You shut your mouth and listen to me! We've all lost loved ones: brothers, sisters, and sons alike. We've all dealt with grief and pain in our lives, but what is the point of bringing _more _suffering? What good will come of hating someone for something they had no control over?" Her shoulders fell. "If forgiveness won't be earned today, then that's your loss. But I don't want to be around to hear any more arguing and bickering. God strike me down now if both of you are content to feed the devils inside of you, for the Snake lives in all of us."

She waited for the words to sink in. The men were stunned; Rauf was even speechless, his mouth hanging open. Benjamin had his eye fixed on Malik, the man choosing to stare up at the ceiling as if something mythical were to happen.

Altair could only hide his admiration as he took in her courage. It was a welcoming sight to see her square her shoulders again and force sense into his and her friends. He could feel hope, the ever fickle thing it was, poke at him and whisper encouragingly in his ear.

"No, I do not want an apology," the Assassin finally murmured, "but rather an understanding. Do not think that all is forgiven and forgotten—forgiven, maybe, in time. Forgotten? Never.

"If you cross my path, I will not hesitate to make it known to you that I _do not _like your stay in Masyaf." Altair and Maria both tensed from his words.

"Forgiveness is all I ask for," Benjamin carefully said. "And I do not expect forgiveness in one day. If I must wait years for it, then I will."

"Years?" Malik snorted contemptly. "If you think only _years, _I hope you'll be dead when I change my mind."

"And in death he'll carry his regret," Maria hissed back. "You honestly think we enjoy taking life-"

"Let him up," Benjamin said, pointedly turning a shoulder toward Maria and fixing his eye on Altair. "He will not attack." He slowly stood from the ground, half expecting Malik to prove Benjamin's theory false. "Maria, be a dear and fetch my saddlebag, would you?"

She frowned, irritated by his tone. '_And this is what becomes of those who succumb to cruelty.' _She jerked her head up and down and followed his orders.

"Go with her, Hildegard," he said quietly. She nodded enthusiastically and almost skipped with joy from finally breaking free of the ever-growing tension in the room.

* * *

"And what do you call that, Maria?" Hildegard laughed as they entered the smithy. Maria hauled Benjamin's saddlebag in her arms and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"Call what, Hildegard?"

"_That! _Dragging me into that conversation when I had nothing to do with—"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she bit.

"Oh, I'm sure you don't! Perhaps you'd like to tell me why you are such a hypocrite? Saying to love instead of to hate when you can't even bring yourself to love that man!"

Maria whirled around and almost slammed her forehead into Hildegard's. "I _don't _know what you're talking about." She stormed away from her then.

"Oh, so trying to avoid me, are you?" She sniffed and followed Maria as she left the armory and trudged back up the courtyard. "Well, I _know _what I saw in your eyes, and what I saw was—"

"Save your fantasizing for you and Aden, alright?" she snapped. Hildegard pretended the words had no effect on herself, but Maria knew she just dealt a low blow. She jogged through the foyer and back up the steps to the study.

* * *

Altair glanced at Maria, hoping that she'd choose to stand next to him instead of beside Benjamin. But she avoided meeting his eyes by focusing on the saddlebag Benjamin was rifling through. Malik, now no longer on the floor, moved over to stand directly in front of Benjamin.

"Oh, where did this old man put it—it's in here somewhere..."

"Put what, Benjamin?" Hildegard asked in an attempt to relieve the thickness in the air. She smoothed her skirts casually. "If it's that stale bread, Maria probably ate it—"

"And if there happened to be a shitload in there, Hildegard probably used it as her makeup," Maria snapped back, not liking her friend's attitude. A glower was shared between the two women.

"Ah, here it is," Benjamin whispered triumphantly.

Maria and Hildegard both swiveled their heads at each other and held the same confused and perplexed look. "Did we miss something?" Maria asked hesitantly.

"Oh, dear, you always miss something," Hildegard coolly said. "Like when you missed the chamberpot the other evening and instead dumped a load onto the floor."

"And I suppose you aren't at fault with your own mishaps, Hildegard?" She shoved Benjamin out of the way as she closed the distance between herself and the other woman. "Maybe you'd like to share how you mistook Bayo's loads for kibbeh?"

Hildegard gasped and raised a hand to her chest in horror.

"If you two don't mind," the Englishman growled at them. Maria looked furious from receiving public scolding, and Hildegard meekly mumbled an apology. Rolling his eyes, Benjamin pulled out a small pendant from the bag and held it out for Malik. His and Altair's eyes widened in recognition. Malik shakily took the necklace and stared at it in his palm.

"But, this... this is..."

"It was his," Benjamin said. "I found it on his person, and—"

Malik's head snapped up to stare him down. "Why did you take it?"

"It serves the purpose of, shall we say, a collar, correct?"

"Correct," Malik growled, "but why would you take it without the hopes of finding an Assassin to return it to?" He took a step closer to him and scrutinized the Englishman. "What kind of a man are you?"

Benjamin didn't hesitate to give him the same calculating stare. "A kind of man who knows what honor and loyalty are." There was silence as Malik, still red in the face and furious, slowly nodded, seeming to find no lie in the man's words. Benjamin wasn't sure if he believed him or was accepting the gift for what it was.

He closed his hand around the arrow-shaped ornament on the necklace. He silently walked away from the study, stopping just at the head of the stairs. "Kadar is at last home now." Malik spared a glance at Altair who was now standing next to him. The Master of Assassin's placed a hand on his shoulder and bowed his head out of respect.

"He has always been home, Brother," he said just loud enough for only Malik to hear. The one-armed Assassin's face softened for a brief moment. Altair understood the sign as a 'thank you', and he allowed his friend to take his leave of the study. He watched Malik until the man descended the stairs and and stepped into the courtyard with more on his shoulers to carry than any man should.

Altair nodded at Benjamin, approving of the man. Benjamin gave a small, tired smile as a response.

"Well," Hildegard shouted, snapping the two men from their quiet acceptance and ignoring the Death Maria tried to send her, "I don't know about anyone else, but this dreariness is starting to discolor my evening. And it's built up quite the appetite." Growls from several stomachs were heard, encouraging Hildegard to continue. Each of those responsible for the sounds stared in shame at their feet, save for Altair.

"Yes, well, while you all were remembering that terrible day at Solomon's Temple, _I _was in the kitchen, and, me being me and having all the staff absolutely _adore _me, the cooks agreed to prepare dinner a bit early. Yes, I know, you can all thank me later—"

Maria placed her hand over Hildegard's mouth. "Either hinder or help, Hildegard. Don't play on the sidelines by choosing both," she warned. Hildegard smacked her hand away and raised an eyebrow.

"Eager to hear my words, now, hm?"

Maria rolled her eyes and all but shoved Hildegard in front of herself. "I believe we're _all _quite famished," she hissed into her ear, "so you'd best do your job and _lead on."_ Hildegard huffed, but decided that crossing Maria at that moment was a fool's choice. She blew from her mouth and linked her arm around the other woman's as they made their way to the kitchen, an unusually mellow Bayo following close behind.

Altair, blinking and watching Maria, decided that his stomach could use some food as well. He quietly padded forward, but stopped when Benjamin placed a hand in front of him.

"After dinner, good man, meet me in the garden. There's something I'd like you to hear."

Altair cocked his head to the side and frowned. "And what would that be?"

"I've fought my ghosts today," Benjamin sternly said, "I believe it's time you and Maria fight your own."

* * *

Translations:

dormirez-vous avec moi ce soir: _will you sleep with me tonight?_

Traidor: _traitor_

Oui: _Yes_

Dios: _God_

Oye: _Hey_

Maldito: _Damn_

De veras: _Oh really?_

L'alerte de séjour, les hommes: _Stay alert, men._

Tú haces él caliente en los pantalones!: _You make him hot in the pants!_

Bastardo: _bastard_

Basura: _trash_

Merd: _shit_

Yebnen kelp: _son of a bitch_

Khara: _shit_

Kalb: _dog_

Quaesumus in paradiso pax, Frater: _We pray you find your peace and paradise, Brother._

Dimitte nobis peccata fecimus vobis et vicissim interrogo veniam a Domino est: _Forgive our sins, for we have done you may, and ask for forgiveness from the Lord above._

Nos quinque nos memorabitur tui usque ad diem mortis suscipe. Fratresque recordabuntur vos, pro vobis et pugnaverunt viriliter bene. I nunc, ut in armis Dei tui. Amen_: We, the five of us, shall remember you until the day we die. And your Brothers shall remember you too, for you fought valiantly and well. Go, now, so that you may be in the arms of your God. Amen._

**FF, Funfact (not really). I've noticed that authors love to steal other author's works. Now, I'm not saying any names, but a few knuckleheads at college... Really? Don't even try to claim Damiel as your own (Meadjean will eat you), and I will END YOU. kthnksbai :D**


	23. Chapter 18

Sorry this is so late. I'm getting over the flu/fifth disease, and I've been feeling crappy for a little over a week. Today, I felt better, though, and up for some writing, so I decided to post the next chapter. I noticed I write better when I'm in a goofy, giggly mood. I like this chapter.

Boo to Meadjean and Christina for not editing XD This is all me.

All original characters belong to ubisoft. Everyone else is my property.

* * *

"You really should consider my offer, Maria. It'd be beneficial to both you and our Brotherhood if you were to take up the hammer and anvil. You, unlike my Brothers, actually have _sense _in your skull! It's amazing, Altair, what accomplishments women can achieve that men cannot! Perhaps you as well, Hildegard, should find a profession now that you're at Masyaf? Oh, I don't mean to sound like I'm trying to force you to earn your keep, that isn't my intention at all. But since you'll be staying for a while, it never hurts to occupy yourself and make yourselves comfortable. After all, what better way to know the people than to work with the people? Eh, I- I don't mean that physical labor is a must in Masyaf, but…"

Maria and Hildegard exchanged amused glances with each other as Rauf continued to blabber sentence after sentence between mouthful and mouthful of pilaf, kebab, and semseg. The two women couldn't help but to smile, more so Hildegard than Maria. The latter's responses to Rauf's proposals were to smile politely and thoughtfully lower her lashes. She wasn't nearly as outspoken as Hildegard was. It was as if the woman had no compassion after the episode in the study. No, Hildegard was lively and animated as she waved bits of kibbeh around and chortled from Rauf's conversations.

She even went as far as to nudge Maria occasionally and make sharp remarks about how hitting something would _definitely _improve her attitude.

Hildegard would ask questions about smithing, some absurd and completely unrelated to the topic, and Rauf would gladly answer them with much enthusiasm. It made Maria wonder how long it'd been since he spoke freely with another person who was genuinely interested in what he had to say. Though, knowing Hildegard, that woman was _always _genuinely interested in what everyone had to say. Quite the gossip, she was.

Maria partly paid attention to Rauf and Hildegard as they both quickly agreed how Maria would indeed be an excellent smith—_how _the woman earned her place in nearly _everyone's _good graces still remained a mystery to Maria. She spared glances at Benjamin who hadn't even touched his food yet. He sat in his chair, hunched over his meal with tense muscles and a stern frown locked in his jaw. Maria sighed, a gesture that was quickly noticed by Altair.

She wasn't shoveling food down her throat like Hildegard and Rauf were, though he couldn't particularly blame them for being hungry (but he could berate Rauf for his manners, later of course), nor was she masked with shame like Benjamin was. She quietly picked at her food, listening whenever her name was mentioned in conversation, and did her best to answer without twisting Hildegard's neck into a French braid. He gave her credit for holding her own when she clearly wanted her own as company.

"—And like I was saying, she could possibly help with new weapon designs. She crafted a spear once, you know, quite unlike anything else in this world! Oh, what did you name it? Benjamin, what was that spear called? The pointy one?"

Benjamin gave a small start from realizing that Hildegard was still waiting for an answer. The man blinked rapidly and ran his hands over his face. "Ahh, the food? Yes, it's… it's delicious, very satisfying and very…" His voice died as Hildegard looked bewildered. Sighing, he pushed his chair away from the table and inclined his head. "Excuse me," he murmured before turning and leaving the dining hall.

Maria bit her lip and closed her eyes as Hildegard tried to appear indifferent to the obvious tension following Benjamin as he left. She leaned her head in her palm and idly pinched and folded the edge of her tunic with her other hand as Hildegard tried to smooth the atmosphere down with more weak remarks about smithing.

Rauf seemed to be more suited to save supper than Hildegard was. Clearing his throat, he asked, "So, you know how to shape spears? Do you know how to form javelins?"

Maria looked up from the question and sluggishly nodded, suddenly feeling dread and bile build up in her throat. "Yes, once. I only made one once. A spear, and it was for a friend who desperately needed a weapon to scare his lousy swings out of him. There were many flaws to her—the weapon, I mean."

"Oh, she's partial, isn't she?" Hildegard laughed. "It was a fine weapon fit for a fine soldier. And Damiel was indeed a fine soldier!" Maria narrowed her eyes at Hildegard in warning. Baffled, she only continued. "He was always so spirited, so rambunctious and, dear lord, what races he made Maria take part of just to keep him out of trouble! They were like siblings, you know, though the boy has only nine and ten years—or does he finally have twenty summers on his shoulders?—and Maria is five and twenty years."

Altair opened his mouth to speak, but his words were spoken by Rauf. "Damiel? He is one of your allies, I presume?"

Hildegard nodded, ignoring the protesting looks Maria shot her. "Yes, though he's more acquainted with Maria and Benjamin. Why, he's known you two for how long? Almost seven years now? I've only known the boy for a mere three years, mind you, and I can tell he's a big personality. Perhaps too big, but who am _I _to judge such a thing?"

"Yes, who indeed," Maria hissed. Hildegard blinked at her, then shrugged.

"He's a good boy and very loyal to his friends. I wouldn't even be surprised that his mouth would remain clamped firmly shut if he was tortured for information about the Rose. He's had a rough life, poor thing—"

Rauf whispered to himself as he stared at his plate. "You said… _Damiel_, correct?"

"Yes, what of it?" Maria gave him an icy stare, as if she was daring him to make one ill comment about the boy.

"And he's a man, now, yes? Twenty years, you said?"

"We think his birthday is in June," Maria blandly replied.

"What do you mean _think—"_

"As I was _saying_," Hildegard huffed, pouting at Maria, "his childhood wasn't exactly the brightest of them all, but then again, who has one that was full of laughter and flowers? He was brought into slavery!"

"Slavery?" Altair frowned. One glance at the man told Maria exactly what name was running through his mind. _Talal. _She could feel her gut twist painfully, and she tried to plead with Altair through her eyes. He, however, was too busy absorbing what Hildegard was raving on and on about to notice her. She tried Rauf next, but he seemed equally intrigued by what the other woman was explaining.

The questions and answers fired back and forth across the table, Maria caught in between all of it. The two Assassin's were practically interrogating Hildegard as they demanded to know as much as they could about the boy. Maria understood Altair's intentions, as he was Grandmaster and needed to know every last detail about Masyaf's residents, but Rauf's source of excitement was unknown. Why the man's eyes sparkled so much from hearing a mere name, she didn't know, and at that moment, she didn't care. She felt sick to her stomach as she stared at the food on her plate.

She didn't wait for the course to be over, for Hildegard to shut her mouth, or for Rauf to cease his verbal assault. She excused herself from the table so abruptly that two jaws fell slack while one hardened in concern. Maria rushed out of the room and through the fortress, slowing her pace down once she was sure she was well enough away from the dining quarters.

Kneading her forehead with her fingers, she leaned against a wall and slowly slid her knees from underneath herself. She sat on the floor, her head between her legs as she steadily rocked back and forth. She could feel the vomit rise and fall within herself, as if it was teasing her. She groaned as she inhaled and exhaled every breath with great effort, knowing that any hasty movements from herself would result in seeing her dinner again.

And that'd be a damned reminder of what dinner's topic of discussion was about, and _Damiel—_

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she felt another wave of nausea creep into her stomach. She synchronized her breathing with her rocking, trying desperately to settle herself. Finally, after coaxing her body to relax and to not hack up her stomach contents, she took the time to survey her surroundings. Somehow she'd managed to stumble into the foyer of the fortress, though she didn't know how. She swore she took a left instead of a right when she left the dining room—

"Bloody nerves," she scoffed as she gingerly hoisted herself back onto her own two feet, unsteady as they were. "One moment I'm fine, the next I'm on the floor providing food for almost all the villagers and their damned brothers." She winced as her stomach flopped around again. "When in Mary's name am I going to have one day when I can just _breathe _without worrying like a mother hen about who I might upset?" She groaned and balanced herself against the wall for support.

"It's either I have a one-armed Assassin practically piss himself as an attempt to have at my throat, or I disgruntle my own person! _Damn_, I should have been a debauched mercenary than a righteous rebel," she muttered as she eased herself through the foyer and to the entrance of the garden. "And now look at me: a _mess. _A mess whose purpose in life is to fashion metal into weapons for men to poke at each other with like toothpicks."

"Or," she mused, "I suppose it'd be shish kebab sticks here, instead." She sighed and leaned her cheek against the entryway to the garden. "At least those foolish women aren't here still," she optimistically argued to herself. "Though, I doubt there's anything good about feeling as sick as a dog—no offense to you, sweetie," she added in as Bayo came trotting up to her. An unimpressed frown was stamped on his furry face as he stared at her.

"Oh, I don't need you upset with me too, you walking miserable plop of fur," she mumbled as she cautiously stepped down the ramp to the garden's second level. She could feel her insides quiver, and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep. "It's worse than the bloody months," she sourly thought aloud. "And worse than Hildegard's bloody months combined, as well."

"Surely it can't be that bad?"

She made the mistake of swiveling her head in the direction of the voice. She felt a headache greedily pounce behind her eyes. The pressure pounded at her skull and brow, and she grabbed and shook her head. "I should have known you'd be here."

Benjamin shrugged and patted the ground beside himself. She carefully walked toward him, being sure not to trip over a rose bush or a clump of uneven earth. Unceremoniously, she plopped her bottom next to him and stared accusingly at him.

"I have a migraine, thanks to you," she murmured.

He sighed and offered her his shoulder as an apology. She wasted no time to lean her head against it. "Are you ill, Benjamin?"

He shook his head. "No, my dear, I'm fine. It's just…"

"This day is too eventful for our own good?"

"Yes," he chuckled, "though I don't see how you'd be affected in the same way that I was. I destroyed a family, Sarah, a _family. _The most important thing to a man, and… just like that, I tore one apart."

She chewed her lip and shifted uncomfortably. "You blame yourself for something you had no control over—"

"I had complete control over it—"

"No, you didn't. You followed orders and defended yourself. Why trouble yourself for what happened in the past? Why bother to keep looking back at it if you can't change anything? Don't you realize that there's no use hiding from everything and covering yourself with guilt? If we can't right our past mistakes, then we right our present and future ones, Benny."

He quietly stared at her in awe as she stood from her spot on the ground. "And damn the Lord for flawing humanity like this. All of creation is errors and mistakes. We try to tell ourselves that we did the right thing when we know we acted out of ambition or impulse. But what justice is there in slamming ourselves down if we can't _do _anything about it?

"There is none," she finished. "There's no use for you to hate and separate yourself from others just because of something that happened years ago. _Three years, _Benjamin! A part of you bled when you saw that he was just a boy, and you knew that… you knew that…"

Benjamin stood in front of her and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "Sarah…"

"You knew that you should have never left him go on that damn rampart! You should have just waited and used your head instead of pushing him so hard!" She clenched her fists and glared hotly at her feet. "And now because of how _stupid _we are, he's—he's—"

A tear spilled down her cheek and she violently wiped it away. She smacked Benjamin's hand when he tried to cup her face. Taking a step back, she blurted, "And since we're imperfect, we try to chase our problems like bloody lymers! But that's a lie—it's _all _a lie. We aren't chasing anything, but actually running from ourselves. It isn't our mistake that we're afraid of, it's fear of ourselves that drive us to failure and our fall.

"That fear only grows and accumulates into a larger amount until it swallows us, thus in turn encouraging us to run some more! So, why are you running from it, Benjamin? You apologized already, and you realize that an apology will not get you anywhere, so _atone _for it instead! Damn, you just kept on pitying yourself that you were blinded by how others started to suffer because of it!"

Benjamin took a step forward and held an arm out for her. "That's enough, Maria," he whispered.

"Well, I for one am _tired _of running! I'm _tired _of not taking responsibility for myself, for my friends, for Damiel—" Arms wrapped around her and she buried her face into Benjamin's chest. Her fingers dug into his back as she swallowed a lump down her throat. "I can't do it anymore," she hysterically confessed. "I can't, I _can't_."

He murmured into her ear, "You aren't alone in this, my dear. Everyone has a shadow waiting to overcome themselves—"

"But I'm supposed to be _stronger _than this!" She pulled away from him. "I'm not supposed to break down at every obstacle in my way! I'm not the type of woman to do that, and it goes against my upbringing and beliefs! So why, _why _am I letting them down?"

"Letting who down?"

"_Everyone! _Xavier, Emily, you—"

Benjamin stared at her as she gnawed on her lower lip, trying to hold back more tears. She continued with a shaky voice, "I'm supposed to make them proud. I'm not meant to have them look upon me in shame and regret." She frowned when a smile twisted Benjamin's mouth. He chuckled to himself, then, feeling more daring, threw his head back into full out laughter.

"So you think those two didn't have their own mistakes, is that it?" he chortled. He turned away from her and rubbed the back of his neck. He mused, "No, those two had it far worse than you ever did and could." He shuffled to face her again with a bewildered yet fascinated gleam in his eyes. "What made you think that they weren't proud?"

"_What? _Didn't you listen to me a few moments ago?"

"I did," he smiled, "but I know they'd never regard you as a failure for having a heart, Maria. Walk with me?" He didn't wait for her to answer, as he took her arm in his. He matched his pace with her slower one. She sniffed and blushed from pride and embarrassment.

"Oh, crying's natural, Maria," he scoffed. "Don't be ashamed of it. _They _certainly wouldn't be, I assure you. Xavier and Emily had their share of tears and fights."

"I doubt it."

He laughed again and shook his head. "Believe what you'd like, my dear, but _I _was Xavier's most trusted friend and ally. I ought to know what he went through when he was in love, and that man could make lovestruck, pining, fluttery maidens look like the epitome of masculinity. Have I ever told you how he and Emily met?"

"Yes, you said he ran into her while running away from guards."

"Is that what I said?" Benjamin scratched his chin and smirked. "Well, that's part of it, I suppose, though not the full story." He briefly paused as he looked ahead of himself. Standing near the garden's pillows and rugs stood a tall figure, partially hidden in shadow. Benjamin turned away from the man, Maria obliviously following his lead.

"I never told you how Emily hit him with a shovel and tied him up with her spare undergarments?"

Maria stared at him in horror. "No, I'm afraid you never mentioned _that _before. I believe an explanation is in order," she pointedly added in when Benjamin slyly puckered his mouth.

"Well, listen closely then, Maria, and for heaven's sake," he pulled out a handkerchief and thrusted it at her, "blow that nose of yours. You sound worse than a walrus in heat." She snatched the cloth from him and did as he said, but made sure to give him an angry look.

* * *

_"There! There he is! I want him strung up for good! Don't just stand there, you fools, get that man!" _

_The young Templar watched in fascination as a group of guards, newly recruited and eager to please their commander, clambered past him in an attempt to catch the hooded man. He blinked as the guards tripped over themselves and fell to the ground. He couldn't help but to chuckle as they yelped when their armor clinked rudely together._

_The commander stormed over to his men then, taking in the sight of his pitiful recruits. His square and squished face reddened, and the Templar would have applauded if steam began to burst from his ears. The commander fixed a well-practiced and insulted glower on him. The Templar shifted his feet happily, knowing that the symbol on his tunic taunted the man. Sputtering and twisting his mouth this way in that, the commander's decision was to stand as tall as he possibly could, tilt his chin up, and then walk away with his inexperienced group of guards sulking after him._

_Shaking his head in wonder, he eased himself from the building he was leaning on and walked past the flustered group of vendors in the marketplace. Their English voices rang back and forth, demanding to know what was going on. Well, if a fully armed man with his face covered bolted full speed past him, he supposed he'd be squirming and squabbling about, too._

_It wasn't difficult following the man. He left the streets of Greenwich full of panicked and alerted citizens, most of them either picking themselves up from the ground or looking this way and that from the sudden commotion. The Templar sighed and looked up at the sky smugly, wondering what on earth went through the hooded man's head._

_He strolled calmly through the streets, a pleased an amused smile on his handsome and cheery face. England's people looked at him as if he was insane for being so relaxed when they had just been shoved this way and that by a fleeing and suspicious individual. Flashing a gleaming grin, the Templar easily stepped past and over them._

_He finally stopped in front of a familiar, two-story house. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his blonde head. "Out of all the places, Xavier, you choose to hide in Baldwin's house? Dearie, dearie me." His boots clicked against the cobblestones as he walked through the gate and pushed open the door. He stepped inside the house, tilting his head above the stairwell when he heard what sounding like a manly yelp._

_Flapping his lips, the Templar jogged up the stairs and invited himself into one of the bedrooms on the far end of the hall. A loud and obnoxious guffaw exploded from his throat as he stared at the two people in the room._

"Xavier and Emily, I presume?" Maria asked with a small smile.

Benjamin clicked his tongue and frowned at her. "Don't interrupt me, missy, I was getting there."

_"I suppose you can add a new name to your suitors, Emily," he sarcastically remarked as he gestured toward the unconscious man, tied up in a woman's shift, lying on the floor with a roused and furious lymer holding him down. "Or maybe you're one of his secret admirers."_

_The woman lifted her head up, a mop of dark curls flying this way and that. Her grey eyes widened in surprise. "You know this ruffian?" She pointed at the hooded man._

_"Oh, him? Let me take a closer look." He pulled back his hood and blinked when he saw a large and angry bruise forming on his forehead. He eyed the shovel lying not two feet from the bed and shrugged. "I suppose I do."_

_"Benjamin," she reprimanded, "I'm quite serious here. He came storming through my window while I was getting _dressed! _Give me one reason why I shouldn't let Oliver," she nodded at the dog, "have at him!"_

_"It wasn't intentional," he easily answered. "He was being chased—"_

_"Chased?" she shrieked. "Then he is a criminal? Father would murder me if he knew I had contact with a vagabond!"_

_"No, I believe he is the victim," Benjamin drawled. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, smiling at her beautiful face and other features. The round features, that was. "You see, our dear friend here, well, without the bruise on his face and the sweat caking him, is quite the looker. He was being pursued by a group of rabid women."_

_"Rabid women?"_

_"Yes, Emily, rabid women, the kind that want to pin a man down and feast upon them! They froth at the mouth, they snarl and bear their teeth, they—"_

_"And they were after him?" She pointed at the man._

_Benjamin nodded vigorously. "Yes, they were. I witnessed it with my own two eyes, love! I was hoping to rescue him from the frothy and virile women, you see, but God's blood!" He peeled himself from her and leapt onto her dresser. "I soon found myself running with everything my soul had to escape a fleet of angry… angry," he glanced at Oliver, "dogs! Angry dogs! Yes, beautiful Emily, angry dogs! They growled and yipped this way and that—"_

_She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose they gave you quite the workout, then."_

_"You have no idea, love. They almost had me, too! One had his jaws tightened around my boot, the other bit at my tunic, but ho ho!" He unsheathed his sword and held it over himself. "I fought those mutts off, I did! I sliced at them, spilled their entrails, ripped the life from them, and then resumed my chase of your new acquaintance! But it was when I caught sight of Baldwin's residence that I felt fear take hold of my heart!"_

_Emily frowned and glanced at Oliver. "I'm sure you did."_

_"Memory did not fail me! I remembered that you were staying at Baldwin's for you were visiting your beloved brother! And then, I began to worry! For if beautiful," he stepped off the dresser and approached her, "lovely, maiden-like Emily had harm fall upon her by such a pitiful being, then I would surely fall to the earth, cold and dead."_

_"As a bone, I'd imagine," she dryly noted as he snaked two arms around her. "Benjamin," she warned._

_"And here I am, protecting thy fair maiden from harm." He leaned his forehead against hers and was once again ever thankful that she wore a somewhat revealing doublet that day. "So, if you will excuse me," he breathed against her ear. She pushed him away from herself and held her palm toward Oliver when he growled at Benjamin. "I will just take this poor soul with me and won't trouble you anymore, hm?" He gathered the man in his arms and swung him over his shoulder._

_Emily gawked and grabbed Benjamin's arm when he made to leave. "Wait—you can't just go like that! Carrying a man around as if he was a sack—"_

_"I promise you, no rabid woman will have victory as long as I am around," Benjamin proudly announced with another bright smile. Then, with darker and provocative features, he whispered lowly, "Unless you have… _other _troubles that I can perhaps assist with…"_

_Emily glared and crossed her arms. "Don't tempt me to fire an arrow or two at you. It might do your backside justice, though."_

"_Any favor from you is like a gift from God."_

"_Forgetting about Rose so quickly, are we?"_

_"Oh, how could I ever forget about my sweet little Rosie, whose hair flaps in the breeze and whose eyes enchant me?" Benjamin stared at her with mock horror. "I prefer rose-blonde over ebony black, dear. But," he smirked, "I suppose practice couldn't do me any harm, could—"_

_"Ollie? Sic him."_

* * *

"You mongrel," Maria growled. "That was my _mother—"_

"Oh, I didn't even have twenty years on me, Maria. You think I was always sensible, wise, cunning—" He yelped as she swiftly jabbed his side. "But, of course," he continued, "I had enough sense back then to let my dear friend Xavier make his move. I wasn't _that _controlled by hormones."

"And I suppose you and my uncle visited Emily and Rose when they were wearing their low corsets?"

"And Catherine, too," Benjamin chuckled. He held his hands up as Maria raised a fist again. "Blot, Maria! No more hitting from you, young lady! And I only dropped by a few times to say my 'hello's to Emily occasionally. I was much more occupied with courting Rose, I assure you." He quietly mumbled, "But Xavier certainly looked forward to seeing her. Well, _after _he remembered what she looked like, of course."

* * *

_"Gracious, good man, if you keep fussing with that collar, we'll have ruffles upon ruffles all over your neck! Why are you so fidgety, anyway? It's just dinner at Seward Ayars' estate! They aren't cannibalistic, and they don't eat their dogs!" Benjamin grumbled and watched as Xavier toyed and pulled at his collar._

_"You've obviously installed a choking device on this… outfit." He tensed his jaw irately and tried to smooth the ruffles down. "This is ridiculous, Benjamin. If we're spotted together—"_

_"Oh, what will they do to you? Shout 'Assassin!' and chase you? Besides, I can always feign that I have no idea who you are and where your loyalties lie."_

_"Templar and Assassin are not meant to go to dinner parties together," he bit back. "Someone is bound to recognize you, and when they recognize you, they'll want to know who your companion is."_

_"Frog bottoms! Of course they'll recognize me! The Mills are very respected across England. I'll be insulted if no one recognizes me. And if they ask about you, you're a cousin from my mother's side of the family."_

_"This will never work," Xavier sternly put in. "We look nothing alike, and what if they start questioning me about my family? I don't know what it is your mother's family does for a living!"_

_"Ahh, good Xavier, good, little Xavier," Benjamin sighed as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is why you are an Assassin. Make it up as you go along."_

_"Will you _stop _looking so nervous? You're as tense as a wet cat," Benjamin murmured from the side of his mouth. "And stop playing with those ruffles! Goodness! For an Assassin, you sure are out of your element." Though he knew that when actually stalking a contract, Xavier was invisible and one with the crowd, he couldn't help but to feel his friend's demeanor dampen. No matter, Benjamin could easily make up for his lack of spirit._

_"I don't appreciate self-indulgences, Benjamin." Xavier frowned as they approached the grand and expensive estate. They stepped through the courtyard, and the Assassin felt his mouth dry from seeing all the fancy tunics and dresses the guests wore. "How many people did they invite, anyway?"_

_"Oh, just the whole of England, Xavier, nothing to fear," Benjamin shrugged. "Just smile and everything will be fine."_

_"How can you guarantee my pleasure, Benjamin? I'm a farmboy and you're having me parade around as some noble! My brother's the only noble in my family, not me. Why didn't you invite him instead?"_

_"Because Alan is a fool and his looks aren't nearly as appealing as yours, Xavier. Why, look at you with your chocolate hair and shimmery blue eyes! You're certain to have a lady or two fawn over yourself. Besides, you never take any time to spoil yourself. Have fun tonight!"_

_"I frown upon the rich and their ways," he hissed, "and you know this. If anything about tonight will be fun, it will be me silently insulting each guest—"_

_"Your invitations, good sirs?"_

_Benjamin and Xavier didn't even stop as they handed the doorman their slips of parchment with the Ayars' seal. Patting his friend's back, Benjamin chuckled, "Now, don't look so sour, else you'll end up scaring Rosie away from me. Just remember: nobility is an oxymoron."_

_Xavier opened his mouth to protest, but Benjamin had already melted into the crowds and groups of dancing guests. Xavier stared in disbelief at all the people, the decorative tapestries, the skirts flying this way and that as dancers twirled, and of all the new faces. He uncomfortably fingered his side, wishing that he'd brought along his sword. All he had was a small knife in his boot. He felt his chest tighten from how close everyone was._

_He glanced side to side, already seeing people cluster together as they mingled and laughed. This estate was ridiculous! All these fancy and pointless archways and finely woven rugs! Who had the time to purchase such luxuries? Didn't these people have careers to keep them busy?_

_And all these women, dancing and exposing more than what was necessary! Didn't they have families and husbands waiting at home, or children missing them? Xavier swallowed and strode with the confidence of a snail throughout the estate. Benjamin was nowhere to be seen, but he figured that with all the feminine squeals and gasps that he was nearby._

_Finally finding a small corner that wasn't occupied by clusters speaking of nonsense, he sighed and tried to slow his pounding heart. Leaning against the wall, his eyes skipped over each face in the crowd, trying to find anyone that might know him. Thankfully, he couldn't place any names with the faces, but that also had him stand stock still with his shoulders squared. He felt vulnerable to the extreme as several guests glanced and frowned at him._

_They chatted and pulled one another to the center of the ballroom when they heard a new rhythm set by the lutists. They stepped this way and that, too elegant to be called skipping, talked and smiled at each other, barged this way and that—_

_Xavier furrowed his brow when he saw one particular couple with the grace of a duck running on ice join the other dancers. Their movements were choppy and over pronounced as they twirled and skipped this way and that. To him, it looked like they were hopping up and down on hot coals._

_His observation was interrupted when he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders. Jerking himself to attention, Xavier glared when he realized it was Benjamin. The other man laughed and gave his shoulders a squeeze. Glancing behind him, Xavier noticed that there were two ladies giggling and batting their lashes at him. He felt like an item on display at the marketplace by how their eyes raked up and down his form, obviously approving of his fit figure._

_"Oh, Xavier, good man, why are you just _standing _here all by yourself? Did you try the wine? It's magnificent! I hear that it's a French brand, you know. If those dogs are good at anything, then their talents are in their vineyards. Did you know that Seward Ayars is acquainted with the Beaumont's? The weaponry-merchant family? Apparently his ties to them allow him to purchase an abundance of wine!"_

_Xavier closed his eyes and quietly groaned. Benjamin, oblivious to his friend's misery, pulled one of his companions and might as well have thrown her at him. "This is Aster, Xavier—isn't she beautiful?" he whispered in his ear. "I'm having Fern for myself, lad. Come, we should go to the dining rooms. I hear Seward Ayars wants to make a toast and thank his guests for coming."_

_Xavier barely had enough time to register that a woman was literally clinging to his arm and pressing her corset against his side before Benjamin began dragging him toward the dining rooms. His legs were almost buried in her skirts by how close she was! He murmured a quick prayer to Jesus and Mary before they entered the dining hall. _

"He was very uncomfortable," Benjamin chortled. "He never saw that girl coming when I flung her at him. He was always such a gentleman, that Xavier. His face turned the color of strawberries during picking season."

"Fern. Her name was Fern?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"Who names their child _Fern?"_

"Maria, it isn't nice nagging at someone's name. She was a lovely girl, too. Very well-mannered and all too willing to please—"

"Why do I take that the wrong way after how you've described your youth? But, tell me about the toasts anyway."

"They were the usual type," Benjamin said, walking through a small pool of water, "holding out his wine glass, thanking everyone, mentioning a few names, nothing unusual about it at all. What was interesting was what transpired after the toasts."

* * *

_"Well, what a marvelous speech that was, don't you think, Xavier?" Benjamin applauded with the rest of the guests, though probably with more enthusiasm. His gaze swept to two familiar people, and, leaning over to Xavier, he motioned for him to follow. Xavier willingly complied as the two men left a heartbroken Fern and Aster behind._

_"Xavier, there's someone I want you to meet before the night ends," Benjamin explained as he approached the man and woman. Xavier recognized them as the lofty and terrible dancers from earlier. "Xavier, allow me to introduce you to Baldwin and Emily Ayars, Seward Ayars' son and daughter, and two very good friends of mine."_

_The Ayars' turned at the mention of their names. The woman smiled and allowed Benjamin to take her hand and kiss her knuckles while the man narrowed his eyes at Benjamin's behavior. "Ahh, Emily, looking as radiant as ever! Why, red is such a flattering and blooming color on you! It almost makes you look larger in the breas—"_

_When Emily's brother cleared his throat, Benjamin was quick to spread his arms out in a welcoming, brotherly hug. "And Baldwin, my man!" They exchanged a small embrace. "You're looking well, my friend! Have you gone hunting, yet? I've heard that the stags this year are particularly skittish!"_

_Xavier decided not to join in on their discussion of game. He'd never gone hunting in his life, as it was a sport that only nobles participated in. He turned his attention over to Emily, who was staring at him thoughtfully. He shifted and tried to smile politely, but it was a complete failure._

_She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't care. She reached out and touched his forehead and whispered, "Does it still hurt?" He swatted her hand away, appalled by such a bold move from a woman. She bit her lip, confused, but heroically saved the situation from becoming awkward. "I'm sorry, that was out of my place," she smoothly continued, "and where are my manners? Emily Ayars here, daughter of Lord Seward Ayars." She even went as far as to courtesy._

_When she asked for his name in return, he could only mumble, "Xavier Thorpe here, madam."_

_He knew by the flash in her eyes that the name was familiar to her. "Thorpe, you say? You're old Owen's boy? From Greenwich?"_

_He wasted no time to shake his head. "No, Miss Ayars—"_

_"Call me Emily, please."_

_"I'm a distant cousin," he lied. "Owen is my uncle."_

_"Oh?" She quirked an innocent eyebrow. "Then you wouldn't be acquainted with Sir Alan Thorpe, would you? He's such a handsome man," she drawled, giving him a knowing look, "and I've heard that his younger brother is even more appealing to the eyes."_

_He wasn't fooling anyone. Xavier hardened his gaze and would have bid her a farewell had Benjamin not stepped in again. "This party is most entertaining!" he exclaimed. "I've never seen so much color in my entire life! And even you, Emily! Why, your cheeks are so rosy in this light, or maybe it's the dress!" Baldwin glared again before Benjamin could name a few more parts of her that looked astonishing._

_"And speaking of roses," Benjamin diverted, "where is that Rosaline lass? I haven't seen her all evening, have I, Xavier?"_

_"Rose is here somewhere," Emily answered. "She was with Catherine before." Leaning closer to Benjamin, she whispered, "There was a crisis involving wine bottles and petticoats at one of the tables about an hour ago." Leaning away, Benjamin answered with an 'ahh'._

_"And speaking of Catherine," Benjamin mused as the woman herself stepped toward them. Much to Benjamin's dismay, Baldwin's sensors were prepared, and the man quickly pulled Catherine toward the ballroom. "A pity," Benjamin sighed, "but maybe not so much." He eyed Emily keenly, causing the woman to glare._

_A growl had Xavier and Benjamin look down toward her skirts. A dog was standing loyally right beside her with a red bow tied to his neck to match her dress. It was a lymer, and a huge one. "Well, hello there, Oliver chap!" Benjamin reached to scratch the dog behind the ears. Oliver's greeting was to bare his teeth. Recoiling his hand, Benjamin gave a small smile to Xavier and Emily before sulking away to find new prey._

* * *

"So, what happened the rest of the night? Did they dance?"

Benjamin stopped and frowned in thought. "No, I don't believe so. I don't think they spoke the rest of the night. When we returned to my estate, Xavier was too embarrassed to say anything. No, don't think that he was swept off his feet by Emily's beauty. He was angry at me for dragging him along to that party, and I believe he was frustrated that he gave his name out publically. Not only that, but Emily was quick to categorize him with his father, who, Maria, is nothing like Xavier."

Maria nodded, recalling how her uncle used to speak of her grandfather. "And when did Emily and Xavier meet again?"

"Oh, after that, they ran into each other quite frequently, actually, even if Emily didn't know it. I couldn't really keep an eye on the two of them, you see. I had to attend drills and fighting lessons, so I was basically in the southern end of the country for the whole time. But I remember Rose speaking to me about them. She said how they were hospitable to each other in the beginning, though it was forced. Soon afterward, Xavier did little to hide his bitterness toward Emily. He was disgusted with her because she was royalty.

"I tried to persuade him that just because she had coin didn't mean she was corrupted. I think he was afraid that her family would be his next contract, seeing as how he killed many nobles. England was so corrupted at the time! The country was slowly but certainly going bankrupt all because the rich were spending so much money. Xavier tried to stop them, but I believe The Crusades speak of his success well enough. It'd take miles and miles of chains to restrain those men, I tell you!"

"And people don't believe that the past predicts the future," she humorlessly noted.

"People believe what they're comfortable with, Maria, just how Xavier believed that Emily was only a porcelain doll. He kept his distance from her for four years, you know. Oh, it wasn't that she was following his every move, but he began to see more and more of her after those four years when Baldwin began contacting him. Somehow, he learned what he truly was. Xavier, needless to say, felt threatened that Baldwin knew he was an Assassin. And keep in mind that he no longer was a shy and awkward man. No, he was purely in his element by the time Baldwin started calling on him.

"Xavier began to become close to Baldwin and Seward. Seward was a good, good man, who believed in women having equal rights as men. He'd even go as far as to debate and argue how women in some cases were _more _important than men. He'd discuss how the baby grows inside the _woman, _how the _woman _raises and brings the family to greatness, and how the _woman _has beauty where men do not. Because of that, certain people began to plot ways to silence the man. At first, it was just verbal threats, nothing serious, and Seward paid little mind to it.

"But then the threats became more violent. There were break-ins, theft, and unfortunately, death. Xavier was always around their estate and would patrol during the night. He killed a good handful of trespassers, too. When the threats eventually stopped coming, Seward offered Xavier the opportunity to return to his own estate and be with his family—he was away for three years. It was a difficult decision for Xavier, as he found friendship in many people at the Ayars' estate, including Emily, though it was just beginning to form.

"Xavier still saw her like every other noble, but he wanted to know her better. For her protection or not, I don't know. But they began to understand each other. Mainly Xavier spent time with her dog, Oliver, instead of her. He was always good with animals. But when Seward died, their relationship shattered. It was partly because men attacked the Ayars' estate when Xavier returned to his estate in Greenwich. Emily was heartbroken that her father was murdered, and she didn't want to hear Xavier's sympathy.

"She felt that only Baldwin could possibly understand her grief, and as a result, had Baldwin occupy Xavier as much as possibly to keep him away from her. But at the same time, she began receiving attention from Xavier's brother, your father, Maria, Alan Thorpe. Alan decided to see for himself what kept his brother away from home most of the time, and it was impossible for him _not _to notice Emily. She was beautiful and spirited, and that attracted him like bees to pollen."

Maria grimaced and kicked at a loose stone. "And Xavier and Emily? Didn't they used to fight side by side with each other? You said that Emily was an archer and that she accompanied him on missions—"

"That wasn't until Emily realized the only way to ward off Alan was to stay close to Xavier. She decided to find Xavier, as he had not returned to her estate for quite some time. She rode off to Greenwich without even telling Baldwin; you can imagine how he felt. She wore the commoner's clothing and was ready for battle if men tried to take advantage of her."

"But," Maria finished, "she was cornered by a group of ill-minded bastards, correct? And my uncle just happened to come to her rescue?"

"Yes," Benjamin chuckled, "that's about right. He was looking for her, as well, it seemed. He barely recognized her while she was wearing a normal tunic with trousers. That's how terribly he categorized her. But it isn't a heroic-damsel-in-distress tale, Maria—don't give me that face. They were cold to each other while she stayed at his estate. It wasn't until she saw him tending to his fields and his dogs herding the sheep that she began to think. And that's when she realized that though he was born into a noble family, there wasn't a drop of nobility in him. And over time, he realized that though she wore expensive garments, there wasn't any stain to her soul.

"But when Xavier started taking long trips away from his estate when he was given more names to erase, she put the pieces together and correctly assumed that he was an Assassin. Their relationship… cracked, if anything, but resulted in very… romantic moments between the two that are not appropriate for your ears."

Maria rolled her eyes. "My mother was a good Christian, Benjamin."

"I wasn't talking about making love, dear. You should get your head out of the hay. But they were right for each other. Xavier was a man who loved every piece of property he had, Maria. He loved every blade of grass, every crop that he grew, every horse in the stables, every dog he trained. He was a good man, Maria, don't ever forget that."

"So then they married and started a family?"

"Married? Not right away. Conflicts began erupting with the French Beaumont family. Catherine Beaumont, who was a dear and beloved friend of Emily, had left a few years before she and Xavier became close to each other. It was believed that the Beaumont's were travelling to Acre to support The Crusades by making them arms and armor, but they had other intentions. Not only were they selling equipment to Christian-borns, but also to Muslims.

"It caused riots throughout Europe when they learned of this. More than once, Emily was accused of being a wicked woman and for being an Arab spy. Xavier had his hands full dispatching of those who falsely pointed their fingers at her. It was no time for them to be married and to settle down. As a compromise, Xavier was forced into letting Emily accompany him on several of his missions."

"But didn't this outbreak across England force you to turn against Xavier since you were a Templar?"

"It did, Maria, but we were clever. We casually avoided each other and spoke through Rose and Emily. We knew where the other was at all times to avoid fights. My visits to Xavier grew thin and less often. When my commanders started to think that Emily was affiliated with him, chaos began to erupt between the two.

"Emily grew weary of the things being said about her. She tried to persuade Xavier to let her spend a year or two in France until the panic died down, but he wouldn't have it. Since Xavier had not proposed, Baldwin was trying to find his sister a husband that could provide for her and keep her safe. He knew the risks of Xavier's profession. Xavier didn't want her to travel to France and be stolen by another man. He knew there'd be nothing he could do if that happened.

"But Emily didn't take that in kind. She became angry, thinking that Xavier didn't trust her and that he thought her to not have fidelity toward him. In the end, she was almost taken by another man—Xavier's own brother, no less. But when the Beaumont's became quieter in Acre, England started to relax. There were hardly any more screams of 'Assassin' on the streets, thank God, and Xavier and Emily managed a relationship."

"So then they started a family?" Maria asked as she took her hair out of her bun. The clip was tangled in her hair, and she braced herself as she tore the thing right out. Her scalp screamed as hair was mercifully ripped from her head. She could feel another headache on the horizon.

"I can only assume so," Benjamin sheepishly shrugged. "I set out with Doctor Foo—do you remember your tutor?—to the Middle East and received more training as a Templar. When I returned to England and visited them, and it took a while for me to find them since they moved to Canterbury of all places, I could safely guess that they were happily married when I saw David in their arms."

Maria nodded, her headache bobbing up and down with her. "So they were able to have a life together, as well as make new life, even though they had their conflicts."

"And they had their conflicts quite often, mind you," Benjamin added. "But, yes. Don't you see, Maria? You're right when you say that everyone commits some form of sin. But we were created imperfect, and we will stay imperfect. But the important thing in life is forgiving and creating more from your actions. You think you'd be here if Emily never forgave Xavier for considering shipping her off to France like cargo?"

"Hmm," Maria hummed, "I suppose not." Benjamin took her hand and started walking back up the garden's slope. "But what of Rose and this Catherine Beaumont? Would they like knowing that Emily's daughter is her own worst enemy?"

"Rose would be proud of you, I know it. In fact, she'd want you to marry one of my sons, probably." He smiled at Maria and squeezed her hand. "I think any of my boys wouldn't survive if you were their wife. As of Catherine, she'd be happy to know that Emily's daughter is strong and independent for the most part."

Maria frowned. "For the most part?"

Benjamin nodded and decreased his pace. "We are imperfect, aren't we? We require something to support us in life: gold, pleasure, indulgence. Or, we require some_one._" He turned and pulled Maria over to where the vases and pillows were in the garden. She turned the corners of her mouth downward in confusion and was about to speak.

When she saw the shadowed figure, her mouth dried and her jaw fell slack. She planted her feet to the ground and stood as still as a statue. Benjamin motioned for the man, and he reluctantly revealed himself.

"The friendship of another person offers us a new life to see, new feelings to handle and understand, and companionship to comfort us. It supports us like scaffolding, Maria. But, I believe the scaffolding between you two has rotted, hasn't it?" Benjamin calmly looked back and forth between Altair and Maria. The Assassin was unreadable as usual with a shine in his eyes while Maria looked harassed.

"But friendship also guarantees misunderstandings, arguments, revenge, hurt, and shame. Sometimes the pain can transform into hate. It steadily consumes us as we try to fault the other and not ourselves. Yes, I see it has turned into hate. But what really _is _hate?" He held his hand out for Altair's.

"It's a strong emotion that is commonly confused with another just as equally powerful. A fickle and flexible thing, hate is, for it promises grudges but actually gives feeling to whoever harbors it. Isn't that what you've felt, Maria?" Benjamin closed his hand around Altair's when the man gave him his left hand.

"For a year, being alone and producing a dead family? You've said it yourself, time and again, that you hated this man. But what caused this feeling, Maria?" He met resistance when he tried to pull on Maria's hand. "What caused you to join the Assassin in his travels to India? Was it friendship? Curiosity? I can believe curiosity, certainly. You were curious to know his life and how different he really was from you."

"But why did you beckon him to Acre? Why did you lay with him? Why did the two of you expose yourselves, Assassin and former Templar who at the time was factionless? Why did you feel the attraction between yourselves?"

The answer wasn't only in Maria's eyes, but in the man opposite her's as well. She kept her eyes on Benjamin and felt her arm slacken. He brought their palms together, the Assassin's left and her right. She flinched from the contact and heard Altair take a sudden intake of breath. Her eyes swept from Benjamin to his, and then she was captured.

Benjamin held their hands together for a few moments as the emotions raced back and forth between the two. Hazel relentlessly poured all thought and feeling into grey, and vice versa. Bringing his hands down, Benjamin watched how the slightest of movements in one of their palms earned a reaction from the other.

"Two people who support each other have feelings reflected upon themselves. When one triumphs, so does the other. When one falls, two are defeated. You depend upon each other, so why hurt yourselves by neglecting and ignoring?"

"By God, Maria," Benjamin whispered, "if you really want to make Xavier and Emily proud, you will realize what is right. And the right thing is to forgive and build from there. Acceptance wounds yet heals, and guarantees prosperity. You know this—you _both _know this."

Benjamin closed his eyes and waited. There was nothing more he could do.

Altair followed every expression on her face: how she fixed her jaw, how her eyes softened, how she blinked away tears, and how she frowned each time one of their hands would quiver. He felt exposed, as if he was bare before her. She could see every thought, every emotion, and every fear within himself. He saw her swallow and stare imploringly into his eyes.

To answer her unspoken question, he intertwined his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his face. He lightly kissed her palm, feeling the jerk in her arm as she tensed from the gesture. But he knew her better than she even did. She was not angry or upset with him, and she certainly didn't want to cleave his head off. No, she was startled. Pleasantly startled.

He held her hand in both of his and ran his thumbs over it. This was his territory. If Masyaf would fall, he'd always have Maria. This was his battlemaiden, his confidant, his warrior, his free and brave woman. And he knew by how she took a step closer to himself that he was hers alone, her protector, and her other.

He felt no shame kissing her knuckles in front of Benjamin, but he had a feeling that the man knew what was happening between the two even if his eyes were closed. He finally clasped Maria's hand as she stepped backward. She nodded at the fortress and walked back inside the foyer, him following her.

Benjamin peeked one eye open, then the other. He frowned and placed his hands on his hip when he realized he was the only one in the garden. Shuffling toward the fortress, he smiled when he saw them, hand in hand, walking up the stairs together.

* * *

"Well," he announced, looking down at his side, "I think I did a pretty damn good job, if I do say so myself, hm?"

Bayo looked up at the man and tilted his head to the side.

"Oh, yes, I did. After all," he boasted to the hound, "I _am _the best guardian ever, aren't I?" He patted the dog's head. Bayo whined and tilted his head further.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

Maria paused, processing what Altair said as she rubbed her forehead. "Bloody headache," she grumbled. "I'm fine—"

He brushed her hands away from her face. With one hand, he massaged her temples with his forefinger and thumb, and with the other, he grasped the back of her neck and rubbed the nape of it. She frowned from his sudden actions and would have surely protested if she didn't realize what he was doing and why he was doing it.

His hand covered her eyes as he soothed that annoying and pounding pressure behind her eyelids. He felt her eyelashes flutter and tickle his palm. He felt his hand tingle and send small and hopeful sparks throughout his body. He bit down on the impulse, reminding himself that haste only made waste.

He glanced at her lips, wondering if she'd allow for him to steal a taste of them. He weighed his decisions and shuffled the consequences in his mind. It was only a kiss, and he'd kissed her hand in the garden. Besides, it wasn't as if they hadn't kissed before.

He'd settle with a little kiss. Satisfied that her head wouldn't be throbbing the whole night, he bent his head toward hers and let his hands fall on her shoulders.

She sluggishly peeled her eyes open and frowned when all she saw was his neck. Her confusion turned into shock as she felt his lips brush against her forehead. He squeezed her shoulders, then pulled away from her. She blinked at him, a demanding look on her face.

"Goodnight," he whispered. He was well aware that their faces were only inches apart, and he'd be damned if he glanced at her lips. But _why, _dear Allah, did they have to be so _soft _looking?

"Sleep well," she quietly answered back.

He nodded. "I will." _Your hair looks beautiful down._

She awkwardly smiled as he slid his hands from her shoulders. She nodded and they both turned in opposite directions as he went to his own chambers and she went to the Residence Hall.

But she felt her heart pound as she heard, "Maria?"

* * *

HAH! YEAH, I'm cruel to all of you.

No translations here, but new food! Semseg (don't try googling it, you'll just get Samsung pictures) is like a meat patty with fried dough bordering around and underneath it. Kinda looks like a sunflower (a little), and I probably spelled it wrong. Oh well :D


	24. Chapter 19

I promised a reader that I'd update before a month's time, so here it is! I had fun writing this chapter, especially the Hildegard and Maria scenes. I'm a bit iffy about the Altair Maria parts, but hey, it's supposed to be awkward for them. Ahh well XD

Throw tomatoes at Meadjean for not doing her job for the past I don't know how many chapters. And give a round of applause to Christina for helping me out with some future chapters. **UPDATE: **Meadjean has been fired as my editor/beta. Now, it's all Christina helping me.

And HEY! ...Favorite OC's? Believe it or not, mine is Clarence. We will see a lot of Clarence in the upcoming chapters. And we'll find out a lot about Clarence. We will hate Clarence yet love Clarence. We will keel Clarence :D Hem. Hem.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else belongs to yours truly.

...I bet I got everyone's hopes up in the last chapter, didn't I? XD

* * *

Maria whirled around to see Hildegard trudging toward her. The woman groggily rubbed her eyes and yawned a loud and outgoing, "Maria?" She strode past Altair, turning when his back was to her, and promptly stuck her tongue out before continuing her dutiful walk.

"Good Heavens, Maria, have you any sense of time? Why can't you take strolls at a godlier hour? You know how _long _I've been walking up and down those bloody stairs, searching for you?" Hildegard narrowed her eyes and frowned so hard that it created wrinkles in her brow. "No, don't you give me any excuses," she deadpanned when the other woman made to respond. She held a finger over Maria's lips. "You storm out of the dining room without even excusing yourself—were you raised by barbarians?—and then decide to go M.I.A for half the night!

"And I don't like it when people go M.I.A," Hildegard finished quickly when Maria frowned. "Because then I have to go on a royal goose chase just to find them. I missed the latest gossip from the novices because of you, you know."

"What a pity, I'm sure your health will suffer from it," Maria snapped.

"Watch that tongue of yours, I'm afraid I don't appreciate the steel in it, you savage. But, I suppose that's to be expected of you," Hildegard softly mused as she paced away from Maria with hands folded neatly at her stomach. "You, who just go on about, rampaging this way and that, not caring about poor little Hildegard—"

"What is it that—"

"—and not even wondering about the delightful and eye-opening conversation that I had with Rauf! Oh, Maria," Hildegard's eyes glittered as she spun and grabbed Maria's shoulders, "there's just so much to tell you, so many things that all make sense now! Like how he never told you much of his past, why he never went home after being freed, or—"

Maria blinked and shook her head. "What in Satan's name are you talking about?" Before Hildegard could even think of a reply, Maria brushed Hildegard's hands off of her. "Nevermind, I don't want to know. Perhaps _you _should pay more attention to the bells, Hildegard. I believe in just five more, the sun will be rising, and I don't plan on walking like the dead tomorrow—today—either." Maria flung her hand over Hildegard's mouth when it gaped wide open. "No, save it for another time, Hildegard, just not now. I'm _tired_, and I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

Maria walked away, groaning and rubbing the back of her head. She was sure that that small niggling pounding would eventually blossom into a full-out migraine.

* * *

"First, we will repair your swords, Maria. After that, we will have to make new arms for the novices. It seems that their training swords either magically disappear on their own, or those boys snap them in two. And their weapon trainer doesn't seem to have any concern for it, either. He expects me to supply them with endless swords and daggers—well, I'm so sorry, but if _I _was still trainer, there'd be no missing equipment."

Rauf and Maria walked out of the courtyard and into the village. Maria smirked from his complaints, and he smirked from her irritation to how hot it was outside. The sun wasn't even highest in the sky yet and it was already blazing hot outside! She could see the heat rise back into the air, for God's sake! On top of that, sweat was dripping into her eyes!

'_Europeans never learn,' _Rauf thought. "And after we're done serving the novices with their petty needs, you are going to help me with a project that the Master personally asked me to see to."

She quirked an eyebrow. "What sort of project?"

He purchased two loaves of bread from a vendor and handed her one. She bit into it, delighted that it was freshly baked and still soft. "He's trying to reconstruct the hidden blade so as not to have any fingers removed for its wear. I'm not sure why he wants to redesign it, maybe to let us blend easier into the crowd? He asked Malik's assistance, I know, but though Malik is intelligent and has broad knowledge, his know-how with forging isn't as vast as mine is, so Altair turned to me. Of course I told him I'd be more than happy to help him, it's just that I wasn't expecting it to be so... _trivial._"

"I suspect that if it was easy, it'd already be redesigned, no?"

"Precisely—well, if former Grandmasters wished it to be remade, that is. We have to change the gears in the blade, remodel the bracer itself, and tweak with the angle of the blade. I don't expect it to be done in one night. It'd probably take months, actually, but I'm sure we can get it done."

"Mathematics," Maria mused. "You're lucky your assistant is a girl who knows her numbers."

Rauf chuckled and scratched his chin. "If you didn't know angle measurements, then I'd be better off hiring your dog as my apprentice. Or one of the novices, maybe even Mustafa."  
"I haven't seen him lately—"

"You can blame that on Hildegard. They seem to be getting along quite well. Gossip has coincidentally spread since she came to Masyaf. From crickets to marriages, they have it all covered." Rauf paused from eating his breakfast and looked toward the city gates. He tilted his head to the side and ate the last of his bread. "They're either Templar's being taken under custody, or they're visitors. Probably Templar's, though."

Maria turned to see what he was addressing and almost choked on her bread. Novices were leading in a small group of adventurers, but Maria knew better. The Assassin's kept their arms locked behind their backs as they ushered them into the city. The leader of the small group of strangers was covered in dirt, sweat and patches of blood here and there.

Though he was covered in God knew what else, she doubted she'd ever mistake that tall and big figure for anyone else other than—

His eyes swept over her, his face scrunching up just from looking at her, and then—

* * *

"And this one suggests a man or two to investigate the Rich District, Altair. Butrus seems concerned with the caravans outside the city as well, it looks like." Malik glanced up from the paper in his hand and rolled his eyes. His great and royal pain in the arse leader was smiling—_smiling!—_out from the window, no doubt at the woman walking with Rauf.

"Perhaps the Grandmaster should not spend all of his attention on the new blacksmith, showing his true novice colors, and instead focus on the matter at hand."

Altair turned his head from the harsh comment. His smile was gone. Malik stared at him with a scowl. Altair had told the man to spend some time for himself and to basically take the day off, but Malik had flatly refused. He'd said he'd rather occupy his time with work than think of his losses, which Altair could understand and respect. He just wished his adviser wasn't so quick to bite at him. "We've sent men to investigate the caravans before, Malik. From what we learned, they aren't tied to the Templar's."

"We only examined them from a distance, though," Malik argued, "because getting too close to them would arouse suspicion, and we both know our brotherhood needs very little of that."  
"Then send a man or two to Damascus to speak with Butrus, see if there can be any investigations done, Malik."

Malik strode over to the window and rolled his eyes by what he saw. Rauf and Maria were leaving the courtyard to go into the town below. "Yes, while I'll busy myself with Butrus and his needs, you'll just be staring and daydreaming, hm?"

"No," Altair lowly stated. "I've other documents from the other Bureau Leaders to attend to. Qasim says that there's been talk in Acre. Whispers and mutterings mainly, but there's been rumors of something in the West, Malik."

"The West?" Malik placed the letter back on the desk and tilted his head to the side. "As in Europe? That's a bit out of our line of sight, Brother."

"I know, but if necessary, we may have to send men over to Europe. Qasim says that Spain, France and England are stirring up. For another Crusade, I'm not sure."

"I'm not sure if Spain's even in the condition to rebel or start trouble. They're too occupied with Muslims invading and conquering their lands, Altair. And what of England and France? Those countries are only united by the idea of Christianity and the Knights Templar. Beyond that, they'd like to go at each other's throats—in fact, I think they are. King Richard and King Philip II aren't exactly the most... thoughtful of men, to put it nicely."

"It's politics, Malik. As long as the Assassin's aren't tied into the middle of everything—"

"—which we will be if you decide to send men there—"

"—there is nothing to worry about. Besides," Altair smirked, "I've dealt with King Richard before. He's reasonable, as long as you prove to him it's God who's trying to change his mind."

Malik snorted and placed his hand on his hip. "So, what will you do? Send men to Damascus as well as Acre?"

"I'm not sure about Acre, Malik. It has nothing to do with our region—should we even be concerned to begin with?" He curled his fingers around the window's iron grating. "It would have been helpful if Al Mualim told us if we had any other allies in the world. Are we the only Assassin's, Malik?"

"There's Alamut, but that's in Persia, and mainly our evacuation site should Masyaf miraculously fall. They're a bit far from us, too. We might have Brothers in Spain, maybe sold into slavery or under the guise of commoners. After all, Arabs and Spaniards _do _look similar, don't they?"

Altair wasn't given a chance to chew over what Malik had just suggested since a very flustered and red-in-the-faced Mashhur came running—and almost tripping—up the stairs into the study.

"Master Altair!" the novice screamed even though he was practically breathless. Both Malik and Altair turned their heads simultaneously. They weren't fast enough to ask the boy what the commotion was. "Quick, Master! In the market—the _biggest _man I've ever seen!" He doubled over and began panting as if his life depended on it.

Malik could only stare with a slack jaw, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "And why, Mashhur, do you feel the need to tell us of a man that's very big—"

"Your...woman...Master!" he managed to choke out. Altair instantly stood from his desk, almost toppling it over, completely at attention. "She's...she's under attack, Master!"

And that was all Altair needed before pushing Malik and Mashhur out of his way, leaping over the railing, and sprinting as fast as his legs could allow him down to the marketplace.

* * *

"Get _off _of me, you—"

"Is that any way to treat an old friend, Maria?"

"_Dog!"  
_  
He laughed and shoved her back to the ground. "Why is it that I go through _Hell _for our cause, while you look like you just took a nice little stroll from a bathhouse? Hmm? Tell me..._that!_" He winced when she shoved her knee into his gut. Had he not shifted his position, a more masculine part of his anatomy would have been crushed by her.

"Because you don't know what a clean kill is," she snarled. She gasped as her body once again slammed into the ground. She dug her nails into his neck and tore through the flesh.

He hissed and growled, "Why is it that you're as safe as can be, when _I _received beatings, then was promptly sent to go do idiotic investigation missions, hm? Here you are, looking _so _pretty, though you'd never be able to compare to Hildegard, and—"

"Shut your mouth, you son of a bitch!" She jabbed the heel of her hand into his jaw. His body raised little more than an inch from hers, and she took that space as an opportunity to squirm and push out from beneath him. She sat up, but was brought back to the dirt when he introduced her stomach to his foot. Her primary instinct was to curl up and gasp for breath. He smirked down at her, his hands on his hips.

"I'll kick your legs and throw you to the ground again, Maria. It wasn't so pleasant before, was it? What were you saying about who was the better fighter? I do believe the position you're in and the position I'm in shows who is the victor, Maria."

"You speak nonsense, you Ganymede!" she gritted out between clenched teeth. He laughed, a cruel and joyless sound, and stared down at her with cold and disgusted eyes.

"You're always trying to look _better _than everyone else, aren't you, you bitch? Always sticking your nose into other people's business and wanting to butter everyone up for your liking! Well, guess what?" He knelt and leaned toward her, his face a hand's width from hers. "That will not get you anywhere with me!" His voice rose unbelievably, Masyaf's citizens taking steps back in fear, and Maria's ears ringing from it. He grabbed the front of her tunic and hauled her back onto her feet.

"Why's it that you aren't covered head to toe in dirt and Allah knows what else, but _I _am?_ You're _the one that performs sins as if they were part of nature—as if they were the same as breathing! And what have _I _done, Maria? Oh, let me think: I've been worrying about the love of my life for over a month now, wondering if she's dead or alive, and all I run into is _you!"_He let go of her and she fell to the ground in a miserable heap.

She looked up at the giant of the man, his face shadowed and eyes dancing with adrenaline and loathing. "It's nice to bloody see you again, Aden," she weakly mumbled. He looked on the verge of beating her again, but to her surprise, and Masyaf's spectators', his mouth uncurled from its snarl and his face softened. He slowly smiled and—

* * *

Benjamin wasn't an expert when it came to smelling out danger, but when he saw Altair leap from building to building with a breakneck speed, something told the veteran that yes, something indeed was amiss in Masyaf.

He pulled Hildegard aside from the market stall just as she finished purchasing new necklaces and bracelets. "Come, my dear," he whispered and took her hand in his. They jogged down the city, Benjamin in the lead, and stopped behind the crowd gathered. Muttering, Benjamin shoved past the onlookers and broke into the circle with Hildegard somehow still in tact.

When Benjamin saw Maria face down in the dirt with a familiar man sitting on top of her, he recoiled and shook his head. "Goodness, Aden, what do you call this?"

The Arab looked up from his handiwork and smirked. "I call it saying 'hello', Benjamin! I'm hardly to blame, too. It isn't my fault she isn't as enthusiastic as I am."

Benjamin clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. "I'm sure 'enthusiastic' isn't the right word to use, my boy. Why is it that disaster follows your every move?"

There was a muffled reply from Maria and Aden chuckled.

"It's good to see you as well, Maria," he calmly said as he pulled her back up. She held her head with one hand, God cursing her with another lovely migraine, and numbly accepted Aden's handshake.

"Bloody oaf," she scowled, "I'd prefer one of your hugs over your testosterone-fueled welcome-backs."

He chuckled and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Maria, I think I'd break your back if I hugged you. Besides, I wouldn't want to get any filth on me."

"Likewise," she spat back. She smirked at him, the closest to a smile she could manage at the moment, and tried to steady her wobbly person. "You don't even know your own strength—that _hurt—"_

"You have my apologies for that," he bowed, mocking her, but frowned and turned his head. "But I sincerely think that you—" He stood stock still, his mirth draining from his face in an instant, as he saw the woman behind Benjamin looking like the epitome of guilt. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish—surely, it _couldn't _be her?

Maria punched him in the soldier, snapping him from his thoughts. "I demand more than an apology, you gutless hound. I demand to know _why _you attacked me—"

"Because _Dumm _here wanted to run ahead from group, like barbarian he is, and then go charge his huge self, not to mention stinky self, at Maria."

The unmistakable German accent filtered through to Maria's and Benjamin's ears. The veteran smiled and gave Maria a sly look as Olivia marched up to Aden and smacked him on the arm. He yelped and took a few steps away from her. "He left cloud of dirt in his wake," she gestured to her clothes that were filthy and also to her hair—was it longer now? On further inspection of Aden's wreckage, there were novices squirming and lying on the ground. Benjamin sighed and kneaded his forehead.

"We're guests, my boy, and you treat these people like—"

"Guests?" Aden laughed. "Guests to whom? _We're _the ones carrying the information, Benjamin, and I doubt that there's any king or ruler that—" He soon took up Maria's former position as a hard blow was dealt to the back of his head. Hildegard sighed in relief and Maria looked pleased. Benjamin seemed to be repressing a grin.

Altair glared at the man beneath him, rubbing his knuckles from the punch. He shot one glare at the crowd, and they instantly dispersed, some even muttering excuses to leave beneath their breaths. He looked toward his Brothers and to Rauf who was helping the novices back to their feet, and then at his other 'guests'. Two women, one European and one Arab, stood off to the side looking highly uneasy. The European one fingered the quiver on her back, contemplating whether or not to knock an arrow. The look he gave her quickly made up her mind to be still.

The other woman looked close to fainting.

He turned his attention to Maria then. Her face was covered in dirt and dried grass and there was blood trickling from her temple. Other than that and also the fact that her clothes were wrinkled and torn here and there—what did this man _do _to her?—she seemed alright. She was kneeling and petting Bayo—no, that wasn't Bayo. The same breed as Bayo, but definitely not Bayo. Bayo was beige, and this dog was white and black.

Maria looked over to him, as if she could feel his eyes beneath his hood. She stood and cleared her throat. "Aden: he's an ass of a man, but nonetheless a member of the Rose," she explained. "He's a bit..."

"Like a bull," Rauf grumbled as he took his place beside Altair. "He _bulldozed _her, Altair! One moment he was at the gate, the next moment he was on top of her and nearly beating her skull out! I kept to the Creed and helped our Brothers," he motioned toward the whining novices, "and sent Mashhur to tell you the news. Allah, it was _awful._"

Altair waved his hand in dismissal of the excuses and nudged the man responsible for Masyaf's disorder. Aden groaned and Altair cursed beneath his breath.

"He'll be out for a few hours," Benjamin chuckled. "In the meantime, Maria, you might want to clean yourself up. And Hildegard, you'd best prepare yourself for some highly needed explanations."

"And you'd better wear armor," Maria spat, "or else he'll do worse to you than he did to me."

Hildegard gulped.

"As for Aden," Maria lilted sweetly, "you can just drag him back up to the fortress."

* * *

Maria leaned back in the tub, sighing as the hot water soothed her aching muscles and bones. It was evening, Aden was still knocked out cold, and Olivia and Zaina were resting. Maria's arm was sore from hammering and shaping away at Ebony and Ivory, something Rauf insisted she tend to that day. He, however, decided to survey the novices train with Altair and the swords teacher. All she wanted to do was sleep.

"Hildegard, you know you're going to have to face him."

Hildegard sat at the edge of the tub, her feet splashing nervously in the water. Altair had been such a gentleman to offer Maria his personal bath, and Hildegard had taken the opportunity to corner her and dump all of her thoughts onto the poor woman. And Bayo and Belle, after their joyful reunion, had followed the women to the bath and were gnawing on two juicy and delicious bones to the side.

"I'm well aware of that, Maria. I'm not _prepared_, though—what do I even say to him? 'Oh, I'm sorry that I caused your heart to bleed for me for running away from England. And I'm sorry that you thought I was dead, but let's just forget about that and start all over, hm?' He'll strangle me, like you said—"

"No, he won't," Maria argued as she cleaned her face. "He only does that with me or Damiel. He's gentle with you—surprisingly. He'll be angry, yes, but he won't hurt you. He's too hurt himself to do that, I think. Who knows, maybe when he wakes up he'll forget about it."

"Altair _did _hit him pretty hard," Hildegard smiled. "Why, I even believe I heard his knuckles crack. Your man is a weakling, Maria."

"He isn't my man, Hildegard." When the blonde raised an eyebrow, Maria explained, "It's complicated."

"But you've forgiven each other, haven't you? Well, that's what the novices told me—something about the Garden, too. Well, what happened? Why the sudden change of heart, Maria?"

"I was just tired, Hildegard." She rubbed the herbal soap onto her arms and chest. "I suppose I decided to finally listen to what you and Benjamin have been telling me all this time—"

"—stubborn woman—"

"—and we forgave each other. I'm still not sure how to act toward him, believe me, I'm clueless. And no, don't tell me to act normally, that doesn't help in the slightest." She hooked a leg over the edge of the tub and rubbed it down with the cream. The water was a depressing grey color. "I'm not going to be hostile toward him, only if he deserves it, that is. But I don't think I'd be spending every minute of my day on him."

"Sounds understandable," Hildegard nodded. "I can't wait to see you put those words into action. Maria Thorpe, heartbreaker and hearthealer, twisting and playing with the emotions of the great and powerful Grandmaster of the notorious and peace-making Assassin's. Oh, I can see the scenes of that lovely drama already."

Maria rolled her eyes and dunked her head beneath the water. "That's ridiculous," she frowned when she resurfaced. Her hair clung to her head and shoulders like a second skin.

"Oh, no no, no it isn't, lovey. I can just picture how you'd tempt him, what with your pretty face and fiery remarks that beg any man to tame you—"

"I'm no horse to be tamed!"

"And oh, how he'd be fighting the instinct to be the one to mark you as his—though, he's already done that, so I suppose it'd be _re_marking, correct? What's the term to use nowadays? 'Dipping the quill into the inkwell'? 'Putting the spear through the suckling pig'? 'Sheathing the sword'? You know, he isn't exactly unattractive, though I prefer Aden's looks over his. Yes, he's a bit rugged, but I think he suits you perfectly. He has a nice bottom, too. Did you ever look at him from behind when he walks?"

Maria blinked and shook her head. "No, why in the Apostles' names would I want to do that?"

"Because it's a nice bottom! And the way his back muscles ripple! How they must have felt when he went to work on you! Were I still a prostitute, I wouldn't even ask him to pay to have him in my bed. But back to his bottom: It's not one of those skinny and bony bottoms of soldiers that barely have any meat on their bodies. It's a very appreciative rear end, Maria. God spent a bit more time constructing his figure, I'd say. And oh, speaking of construction—"

"Hildegard, I've been clocked on the head by your beloved one too many times today. My head is already pounding and I don't need—"

"Those _hands _of his! So rough and worn from the sword and whatever other pointy, shiny things Assassin's play with. How splendid they'd feel against something soft and warm and supple! All the callouses rubbing against rear cheeks and breasts—your breasts are soft, right, Maria?"

She squawked and glared at Hildegard. "Of course they're soft, they're breasts!"

"How he imagines them and how you'd moan out his name from torturing a nipple or both."

Maria's cheeks flushed red and she was ready to pound Hildegard to a pulp. "I don't need such pleasure as—"

"Oh, yes you do," she chanted sweetly. "As if you aren't picturing it in your mind. His lips planting such soft and tender kisses down your jaw, suckling at that sensitive part in your neck and nipping at it, then traveling lower to the bosomy delights—"

"Your mind is ruined—"

"No, my mind is logical, Maria. Like you can't feel his stubble brushing against your jaw and neck—now, I don't know about you, but men with hair are attractive. Not fur or on their backs, though, but on their chests, stomach, and pubic area is just so... _masculine! _Gets me all tingly and riled up just thinking about it! Tell me, Maria, where is his body hair?"

Maria's face was a bright red and she sunk into the water. Hildegard waited until she had to come up to take a breath. "I'm still waiting, dear, you know I'll keep pestering you if you don't tell me."

"In all the places you've said," Maria bit out, "where men should have hair."

"Oh, splendid, splendid!" Hildegard clapped her hands together and kicked childishly at the water. "Do you enjoy following his treasure trail?"

"His _what?" _Maria blurted.

"His treasure trail! The hair from the chest that leads into the pants where the peni—"

* * *

"So, the Master has _us _sew _six blankets_—_six!—_and he has you babysit a woman who doesn't even need babysitting? Mustafa, what is this?" Nabil placed his hands on his hips and clicked his tongue. "You've no idea the torment Rakin and I have been through! Just look at our fingers!" They held their hands out for Mustafa to see, and sure enough, there were small cuts and pick marks from needles. "This is unfair justice!"

Mustafa chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Did you two look at my face, though? Only two days in the smithy, and my cheeks are permanently pink!"

Nabil and Rakin both looked unimpressed. "On top of that, we missed the latest talk from Hildegard! You know how _boring _our days were, just sitting around with thread and needles? And we couldn't even watch our Brothers in the ring! _And _we had to eat leftover kibbeh! _Malik's _leftover kibbeh! I'm surprised he even _had _leftovers."

Rakin nodded vigorously and put in, "_And _we had to clean the waste room. I _still _can't smell anything!"

Mustafa laughed again and innocently raised his hands in the air. "I'm sure the Master has a perfectly reasonable explanation—oh, Mashhur, what are you doing here?"

The novice was muttering to himself as he sulked throughout the fortress, and when he heard his name being called, he yelped and jumped to attention, looking as though he saw a ghost. When he saw that it was Mustafa speaking to him, he scrunched his nose up.

"I thought you were supposed to be at the post?" Mustafa asked politely.

Mashhur wrapped his arms around himself and cowered. "None of your concern," he hissed at Mustafa, his heart pounding, and scurried away.

"A jumpy person, isn't he? Even more timid than Rakin," Nabil commented. "But I suppose we can't all feel safe at home in Masyaf—"

"_You get back here, you blinded, conniving, insufferable, ridiculous, thumb-sucking flea!"  
_  
All three novices looked bewildered and shouted as Hildegard raced past them, followed by a furious and huffing Maria. "I think we've just found our entertainment," Nabil smirked. Mustafa, though, still had his suspicions about Mashhur.

"Maria, please, my dear! Try to understand! I was merely trying to encourage you—"

"_Encourage _me?" Maria had Hildegard pinned to a pillar, her forehead pressed against hers as she stared terrifyingly into her eyes. "I don't even want to know _what _you were trying to encourage me to do, but I _demand _that you leave me alone." Letting go of her, she briskly walked away, only to be pulled back by Hildegard.

"What are you saying, Maria? You're tearing me apart! Why is it that you neglect me? Do you not love me anymore? We never speak to each other—have I done something to anger you?" Hildegard dramatically flung her head to the side, her hair covering her face. "I try my hardest, you know, but—"

"Save your soliloquy for another time, Hildegard." Maria tore her arm away from her friend and resumed her pace. Hildegard fell to the floor from the motion.

"Maria, my love! You've left me all by myself, no one to shelter me from the cold! How could you be so, so cruel! Here I am, lying on the cold, cold floor, without any form of—"

"Then get off the floor."

"But—"

"Hildegard, I'm not going to pity you—"

"But if I get off the floor—"

"Just do it already."

"How will you mount me?"

Maria halted in her tracks, almost falling on her face, and whirled around. "_What _did you—"

"Or maybe you prefer the bottom. I'm sorry dear, but I'm a bottom person myself, but I think we both know a certain Assassin who'd be willing to take the top for you—"

"_Hildegard!" _Maria blushed as she heard the novices chuckling and mumbling to themselves. She shot them an ugly look, but they were too busy laughing and nudging each other to pay any attention.

"Oh, the sounds he'd be able to pull from you, all those lovely little noises that'd only feed the flames of hunger in his soul—the taste that only makes him crave for more!" Hildegard stood from the floor and smiled from seeing Maria's flustered blush. "And, dear, I believe his menu consists of only one entree—"

"_Don't you dare—"_

"Why, Maria Thorpe herself! And oh, dear Lord spare me, he'd want appetisers as well! All the foretastes before the main course! How could I have forgotten _that? _And he's the kind of man that'd make reservations for a private room, yes? Dinner for two sounds like a splendid cup of tea! Just make sure there's a great, big, sturdy bed in the room," Hildegard whispered to the novices. "Lord knows that bed would need all the support it could get, what with all the rocking and the thrusting—"

Maria hunched her shoulders and balled her hands into fists, steam almost shooting from her ears.

"Maria, don't look at me like that," Hildegard waved casually, "it's common knowledge that women need more time to reach their peak of excitement than men do. No need to be ashamed about it, I assure you, plus he'd probably be absolutely grateful for a reason to still be inside, no doubt." Hildegard proudly raised her chin in the air, not noticing Malik slowly passing by, looking completely horrified.

He shuddered and growled at Rakin, Nabil, and Mustafa, "Novices," before leaving the room. But he sneered, a cunning and clever idea coming to his mind.

"I'm _not _ashamed," Maria shot back.

"Then what are you, my dear?" Hildegard gave a toothy grin and continued in a sugary-sweet voice, "If you're afraid he won't spill anything again in such a short time, don't worry your pretty head over it. After all, men are messy eaters."

Maria opened her mouth to scream at her for being so provocative and inappropriate, but she was interrupted when Hildegard nodded toward the doorway.

"My, my, what a sight _that _is, no?"

Altair and Rauf were speaking to each other in hushed tones, gesturing from time to time and looking back at the training ring. Rauf looked like he was trying to negotiate with Altair, and the other man seemed to be denying him. But what caught Hildegard's attention were the clothes that Altair wore, or rather, the lack of clothing.

"Just look at all that hunk of man," Hildegard admired. "A gorgeous thing he is, isn't he, Maria?"

"It isn't that noteworthy," Maria countered.

"Oh? Are you arguing that every inch of him isn't man? Well why don't you go check and report back to me, hm?"

Maria opened her mouth in a silent shout and was about ready to pummel Hildegard to the ground, but her arm was stopped in mid-swing.

"What is the purpose of all this commotion and shouting?" Altair and Rauf.

Maria glared daggers at Altair for halting her punch. She whipped her arm from his grasp and refused to look at him. Hildegard, however, looked ready to burst by how delighted she was.  
He looked back and forth between the giggling novices, Hildegard, and Maria. Maria's cheeks looked like they were on fire—did she have a fever?

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Hildegard explained as she took a few steps toward Maria. "We were just discussing dinner, and our friends here," she nodded toward the novices, "found it comical when we discussed rather juicy and mouth-watering intercourses."

Maria almost choked. Hildegard gave a mock gasp. "Did I say 'intercourses'? A slip of the tongue, that's all. I meant to say courses, or corsets. Which do you prefer, Altair?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Courses."

Hildegard nodded. Putting an arm around Maria, she lilted, "Mind if I steal her for a moment, gentlemen? No? Good." A good distance away from the Master of Assassin's, Hildegard mumbled to Maria, "Now _that _is what I call a treasure trail. Although, it's a bit faint, but all the more fun for you following it!" Indeed, Altair was not wearing a tunic or robe as he'd just come back inside from training with the novices. "Just look at how that sweat accents those muscles. And how they flex and are so pleasing to the eyes. Mmm, Maria, he looks delicious."

Maria shrugged and pushed Hildegard off of herself and walked back to Altair. Rauf was speaking to the other novices and he quickly shooed them away, Hildegard prancing after them.  
They stood facing each other for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to say. He stared at her as if he wasn't the least bit ashamed of presenting himself in such a way. She was never a woman to be insulted by shirtless men—such a thing was impossible _not _to see in the Crusades.

"Aden is still unconscious," she said, hoping that her face wasn't as red as it felt like. She tried to compose herself and wipe away all signs of embarrassment. "Benjamin had him investigate Damascus, and until he wakes up, we don't have any information. What's your call?"

He paused before pursing his lips and walking up to his study. She followed him, trying to keep her eyes off his back and behind. Hildegard was certainly right: his back muscles moved so gracefully and he _did _have a nice bottom. Though, she'd never admit that to Hildegard. She wasn't even sure if she could ever speak with Hildegard again.

"We wait, of course," he sighed as he pulled on a spare tunic. She tore her eyes away from his built torso and scolded herself for internally marveling over such a sight. _Damn _Hildegard and her idiotic banter! He paused, noticing her admiration, and stared at his desk, apparently looking over a document. "Until he tells us what he learned from Damas, we can't make a move."

"Hm," Maria grunted. She leaned against one of the columns in his study and seemed absorbed in her sleeve. He studied her. She was uncomfortable, he could tell, but he missed what transpired between her and Hildegard. He was sure it was something unpleasant, but to be so blunt as to just ask? Would she tear his eyeballs out for that?

Well, dammit, he was a man of action, anyway.

"What did Hildegard say?"

"Hm?" She looked up from her sleeve. She blushed from the question and returned to prodding at her sleeve. "Oh, she was venting, that's all. Aden has her on edge. He fancies her, you know, and she's too fickle to return his feelings. At least, that's how she always makes it out to be."

Altair understood completely how love tortured a man. She wouldn't even _look _at him! "I see." Silence. Awkward and lengthy silence. He looked back and forth between her and his desk. She was still fiddling with that stupid sleeve. Clearing his throat, he tried to salvage the moment. "That man, Aden, he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"When doesn't he?" Maria bluntly snorted. When Altair approached her with concern smeared all over his face, she raised a hand. "I'm fine, honestly, just a bit sore. You don't need to cluck at everything that happens to me."

"I'm merely concerned for your well-being, Maria, and if that man hurts you again, I'll do more to him than knock him out." He ignored her comment and took a step closer to her.

She looked ready to raise Hell from his words. She breathed out of her mouth, trying to hold back her flames, and cautiously replied, "I don't need pity, Assassin, especially not from _you. _Aden's always been seeking a way to remove me from existence, and I don't expect that to change just because you wish it to be."

The tiniest of muscles moved in his face and he easily replied, "Is it so terrible that I be concerned for you?"

"No," she insisted, "but there's no reason for you to waste your time in such a foolish way. I'm sure there are many other things you could occupy your mind with."

He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. "You are a guest at Masyaf, Maria, and it's my duty to keep Masyaf's people safe and provided for."

She snorted. "And are those the words of the Grandmaster? You belittle yourself to a common babysitter."

"Babysitter? I prefer the phrase 'vigilant leader', Maria. And no," he shook his head, "those are the words from Altair, a mortal human man." _The person I can be when around you.  
_  
He watched as she struggled to hide her astonishment and how she looked everywhere else but at him. It was remarkable how much he could effect her with words.

Finally deciding on a reply, she sarcastically said, "Well, it's good that your robes don't choke who you are, Assassin. I'd hate to go fishing you out of them."

His mouth twitched as he took another step closer to her. "I wouldn't want you to go through such troubles for me, Maria."

She swallowed. "I can see the feeling of independence is mutual, then, and I assume you can understand my request for you not to hover over me."

"Hover?" He took another baby step. Their chests almost touched. "Assassin's don't _hover, _Maria." He touched her cheek and murmured in her ear, "We fly."

His breath had the hair on her skin rise. He made the slightest movements next to her face so that their cheeks barely brushed against each other's. His stubble tickled her and made her want to squirm, but she knew that he'd be utterly satisfied and smug with himself if she gave in.

Satisfied in the manliest of ways, that was.

She wanted nothing more than to push him away from her for violating her personal space in such a way. Standing in front of her? She could handle that. Speaking to him face to face? Although his voice had such a sensual rumble to it, she could survive. Breathing against her neck and nuzzling her? Line drawn.

She fought the urge to shove him off and instead gently pushed him back. He reluctantly listened, letting air escape his mouth that almost made her gasp. Almost.

His eyes were dark with something... something that was familiar in a most unexpected yet completely welcoming way. And when she saw herself reflected in his eyes, the most beautiful green and brown she'd ever seen, she felt her chest bubble.

Her fingers curled around the material of his tunic when he dipped his head toward hers. She cleared her throat. "Altair?"

He paused so that their noses touched.

"Last night," she managed, "after the garden. You.. you helped my headache. How did you do it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You've headaches often?"

"Breakfast, lunch and dinner," she dryly remarked, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his. "Benjamin says it's because I worry too much. Hildegard says that I'm not getting enough sleep, which I suppose ties hand in hand." She wanted to kick herself for her babbling nonsense.

"But are you worried?"

She opened her eyes. "Yes, I suppose I am."

He searched her face, seeing how her eyebrows were gently knitted together.

"Don't open your eyes," he eventually whispered, "otherwise it doesn't work." She creased her brow further but listened anyway, unable to see the sparks lighting up hazel. His good hand snaked its way to the back of her neck, brushing against her side, and started soothing the nape of it. His other hand tenderly brought her closer to his body so that her head was nestled comfortably between his neck and shoulder. "Worried about what?"

"Templar's," she lied. How was she to tell him that he was the reason her palms were slick and that her heart was racing at a speed she couldn't keep up with? And how was she supposed to keep her composure when she could smell the sweat on him, a scent that suited him so well?

She felt him stiffen from the words.

"Do you remember Acre?" he lowly whispered into her ear. His voice, so baritone, sent a pleasant shiver crawl up her spine.

"As in Earl of Gloucestershire? Yes, yes I do. At least, I remember enough to know what that pig-headed bastard wanted to do with me. Thank you for that, by the way."

Altair nodded and tightened the hold he had around her waist. She flinched from the touch, deciding whether or not to deny him such a privilege. She decided not to pull away. A good sign for him. "Assassin's and Templar's have been raging war against each other for many years, Maria, and always the Assassin's have come out triumphant. The same will go for these new Templar's; they will not hurt you."

"I'm not asking for protection, you cur. I'm perfectly capable of holding my own, in case you've forgotten. I'm worried about what they're planning and what they want to achieve."

"Their goal is clear, is it not? They want the Piece of Eden."

Maria sighed. "You still have that thing?"

"Of course, Maria. I wasn't about to go lose it." Though he was done with his treatment, she still kept her head on his shoulder. His voice always had a pleasant undertone quality to it—whenever he spoke to her, of course—and she mentally cursed herself for almost forgetting it.

"It's damnation given form, Altair."

"I know," he breathed, "and the Assassin's would be damned if the Templar's got a hold of it. I don't plan on using it to win my battles."

"Your battles?" She pulled away from him, her hands on his chest, and was still locked in his embrace. "In case you need to be up to speed, Altair, I've my own bout to settle with the Templar's as well. Clarence thought he could _marry _me, might I add, and Earl attempted to take advantage of me, not to mention that I still have scars from him, _and _I have a missing comrade. On top of that, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the Templar's. I think I'm more involved in this than you give me credit for."

"Forgive me for my misunderstanding, then. They are _our _battles—"

"And Hildegard's, Benjamin's, Aden's—" She swallowed her words when he leaned his forehead against hers. His breath tickled her face as he spoke.

"Then we will all see to it that the Templar's will fall and that their perverse designs for world domination will never see light."

"You can't guarantee that," she quietly argued. Oh, how much she just wanted to push him away from her and ignore the tiny leaps her heart was making. _Why _did this man have to be such a bother to her? And was it necessary that his fingers were twining themselves in her hair? And—blast—where did her clip go?

"You're right: I can't. But I can stay with my beliefs, my Creed, and keep the Templar's from harming my Brothers," he sighed, "and you."

She quietly swallowed, wishing that her mouth wasn't so dry and that her fingers weren't curling around his tunic. She barely managed to croak out, "That's a little ambitious, isn't it?"

"You've said those words before."

"Have I?" She could feel that taunting blush return to her cheeks as he glanced at her lips, and just when she thought she'd had herself under control!

"Yes," he mumbled as he leaned forward and—

"Good news and bad news, I'm afraid, though I suppose having any news at all is good."

Altair cradled his head on Maria's shoulder, sighing irritably before pulling away from her, leaving her stunned and looking more than infuriated. Her hands slid from his chest as he took a few steps backward.

"I'll start with the good news then," Benjamin announced as he invited himself into the study. "Aden's finally spoken." He eyed Altair and Maria, noticing the pink on Maria's face and how she ran her fingers through her hair. The Assassin, as usual, looked unaffected but interested in what Benjamin had to say.

"Firstly, Aden would like me to say, and I'm not exactly happy about being courier pigeon, but he says he has a 'God-awful headache that reminds him of Maria and Damiel combined'. Secondly, he says he will sleep the rest of the night, and in the morning, he will have a nice heart-to-heart chat with whoever hit him over the head. Thirdly, he has news of Damascus.

"He says that there are caravans linked to the Templar's just about a day from Damascus and that someone should go investigate them on the double. Apparently, there's been recent Templar activity in Damascus, which I think is believable."

"We've inspected those caravans before," Altair stated. "Yes, there have been many guards around them, but there were carts full of spices and herbs. It was explainable, unless—"

"Unless that was just to cover up something else," Maria finished. She looked over at Altair. "What are your orders, Grandmaster?"

He frowned and spoke, "We will send men to the caravans, then. I've given the task to Malik already, we will need to see who he has elected to go." He walked out of his study, Maria and Benjamin following, but then stopped and turned around. "Although I believe your presence is beneficial to Masyaf, Benjamin, perhaps it'd be wise if you didn't accompany us."

The veteran sighed and gave a small smile. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I'll check in on Hildegard and the others, then. That woman seemed a bit too giddy when I saw her last."  
Maria rolled her eyes. Benjamin squeezed her shoulder before leaving the two.

"Shall we?" Altair motioned toward the stairs.

* * *

"Have I decided?" Malik mused as he helped another ball of kibbeh into his mouth. He smirked while he chewed, occasionally glancing at the man and woman in front of him.

"This is urgent, Malik. It's been confirmed that Damascus is a threat to Masyaf."

"And did that walking boulder of a man tell you that?"

"Yes."

Malik swallowed and neatly wiped his mouth on a handkerchief. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that yes, I've assigned two people to this mission, and I'm certain that you'll thoroughly enjoy each other's company."

When Maria and Altair exchanged puzzled looks, Malik only sighed and shook his head. "A novice to the end, Altair—I've picked the both of you. You could both do with the exercise, I'm sure—"

"But I'm needed for forging and assisting Rauf!" Maria stuttered, utterly appalled by his selection. "To have me run off on some petty mission would look terrible to Masyaf's people!"

Malik smiled and swallowed another kibbeh. "Rauf will be able to manage on his own, I'm sure. And as Masyaf's guest, Maria, it'd be rude to decline the city's request, wouldn't it?"

Her eyes flashed and she clenched her fists. "But surely there are others more suited for the task! I'm out of practice and I agreed to serve Masyaf's people as a blacks—"

"And serve you will," Malik casually replied. Allah, this woman could be terrifying. "Uncover the truth about the caravans, and our Brothers will be most grateful to you."

"But this is—"

"We will leave at dawn, then."

Maria whipped her head around to glare furiously at Altair. "_What _did you just say—"

"An excellent decision," Malik smiled. "I was about to say the same. Prepare your saddlebags tonight: blankets, bread, waterskins, whatever you require, then get yourselves some rest. We wouldn't want you falling off your horse—"

"_Horses," _Maria growled. "We're taking _two horses."  
_  
"And increase the chance of being spotted by guards along the way? Never. No, you will ride the same horse, but you'd do well not to choose Shihad. He's exhausted from his exercise today and it'd only be polite to let the horse rest. Take Hafa instead. I hear she's eager to break out of her stall."

Altair clenched his jaw, the only sign that he was irritated by Malik. Maria looked like she was ready to shove all the kibbeh on his plate down his throat until he choked.

"As you wish," Altair lowly replied before turning and leaving the dining hall. Maria turned as well.

"Oh, and Maria?"

She halted and whirled around to give Malik her most menacing look possible.

"Do sleep well."

* * *

Mashhur wrapped the blankets around himself tighter as he shivered on his pallet. Syrian nights could be so freezing and numbing, but that wasn't what had the novice jittery and anxious. No, it was an entirely different matter.

_The Rose was in Masyaf! _He was doomed, he knew it! All of them were practically united, save for Damiel, but his chance of discovery was increasing at a rapid speed! And _worse: _that idiotic master and his woman were going to the _caravans! _All his letters would be found, revelation upon revelation would be made, and he'd be put to death! _He knew it!  
_  
And not only that, but Clarence and Tagvoryan would be discovered as well! Oh, he hated to think how that Armenian man would react! He was always so lifeless and cold and unnerving! He'd bring Mashhur back from the dead just to kill him again!

He had to do _something, _but what _could _he do? His orders were to stay in Masyaf, and he'd be punished if he disobeyed his orders. Did Clarence think him so insignificant that his death wouldn't even fracture the Templar's plans? No, that couldn't be so! He'd been giving information to Clarence for some time now, so he had to be considered important!

Or maybe this was all a part of Clarence's little game! Aha! But, no, Clarence was good to Mashhur and gave him food for his empty stomach and put a roof over his head. No, Clarence was a good man. So, he murdered his parents and destroyed his younger sister's life, but he was still honorable. Without Clarence, Mashhur wouldn't even be alive! And all the documents he gave to the man—

_The documents! _They were supposed to be delivered at Damascus two days ago! He was safe! They wouldn't still be at the caravan; they'd be at the Merchant Palace where Clarence was staying, safely tucked away from any Assassin's grubby little hands. No, he wouldn't be discovered! He'd go on being a traitor to these foolish men in the bizarre robes!

Mashhur smiled and nodded to himself in reassurance. Nothing could possibly go wrong! All Altair and Maria would find at the caravan would be spices! Lots, and lots of spices! They'd never find the letters or their plans! Clarence and Tagvoryan would be safe, and he'd soon be in Armenia where no Assassin could follow and bring harm to him. Even if he was revealed to be a traitor while in Armenia, nothing could touch him! Tagvoryan would protect him, he was sure, and _no one _could defeat Tagvoryan.

Mashhur curled his toes and bit his lip as he held back his excitement. The time of cleansing these heathens was nearly upon them, and soon, the Templar's would be the last ones standing.

Altair would be dead along with his Brothers, Masyaf's women would be plundered, and Maria would have her legs spread for Clarence's pleasure.

Yes, Mashhur liked that dream.

* * *

For those of you who disagree on Altair's body hair, lemme clarify something. He's an Arab. I don't care if he's only half Arab. The other half of his culture that I'm making him in my Fanfic is also a hairy group of people. 70 percent of Arabs are hairy, 10 percent are blessed with a little amount of hair, while the leftover 20 percent either wax, twease, thread, or do laser treatments. And I don't think Altair does any of that. I'm not saying that I'm disgusted with body hair. I actually find it extremely hot. To me, you aren't a man without it, and you aren't a woman without it either.

In fact, being Armenian, I have my share of it. Is it annoying? Yep. Do I think it's ugly? Not really, I'm a clean person. Are there men so shallow to think it's ugly? Yep. But hey, girls wouldn't be hairy if their fathers weren't. So, guys out there who detest body hair? You can go change your genetic makeup so that you're as bald as a baby.

And with that, since it's the time period, I doubt ladies really shaved. Unless you were a prostitute, I mean. So yeah, Maria, Hildegard (now that she's out of prostitution), Olivia, and Zaina have hairy legs and pits. And Altair is a real man to be attracted to a woman who doesn't shave. I give him brownie points for that.

Translations:

Ganymede: Medieval slang for homosexual

_Dumm: _stupid


	25. Chapter 20, Part 1

**UPDATE, 6/6/11: HOLY SHIT, HOLY HOLY SHIT. AC:R E3 TRAILER? HOOOO, GOD. Anyway. Totally going to preorder ASAP. Now, back to nodding my head to the music and drooling over the trailer.**

And here is the first part of chapter 20. The next part will probably be up in another month, or maybe sooner. That depends if A) I get over this cold that's been bothering me for a week now and B) when I get back from vacation. I know, you're all thinking that vacation is going to Florida or another country. Ahah, I wish.

Vacation for me is visiting all my little cousins and exhausting myself while entertaining them. Yay for family.

Also, totally psyched about AC: Revelations. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Ubi will show some more AltMar. I mean, how many smexi scenes did Ezio get? And how many did Altair and Maria get? Yeah, I thought so.

Though, I'm a bit worried about my fic's popularity. I know that it doesn't receive much attention since a lot of people aren't fond of the pairing, even though it's canon, but once the game comes out, I hope people won't think that I disliked and changed the plotline for Altair. Sure, I'll feel a bit silly when the game comes out and we learn about what the Samheck went on with Altair, Maria and their family, but I hope any new readers I get will understand that I created 'Loving Hate' way before Revelations came out. I'm merely working with clay that has not yet hardened.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.

* * *

Maria sat at the foot of her bed and tightened the bindings around her breasts. She secured the strips of cloth in place before pulling on a tunic that was nowhere near form-fitting, courtesy of Altair's negligence. She shoved her feet into her boots and inspected herself in her mirror.

With her breasts flattened and without a belt making out the swell of her hips, she could pass as a male. If her hair was much shorter, then she'd really look like an adolescent boy. She tugged at the dark locks, tossing the choices around in her mind. No doubt Altair would be shocked speechless if she hacked her hair off. There'd be no clip for him to steal, then, and she'd be victorious.

But then she wouldn't be able to see his fleeting looks of adoration toward her mane, and though she was a woman who didn't appreciate flattery, she couldn't help but feel something inside of her stir from feeling his eyes on her.

She'd blame it on Masyaf's food. With all those foreign spices, she was probably allergic to one or more of them.

She fingered the clip on her bureau, frowning at the object. Since that buffoon was set on swiping away her hair pins, she found it ironic that he'd go as far as to buy her another one. It was as if he was trying to prove that no matter how many she had, he'd always find a way to snatch them from her.

Wrapping her cloak around herself, she pulled her hair up into a tight French braid before tugging her hood down. She rather liked long hair.

Slugging her saddlebag over her shoulder and leaving her room and exiting the fortress, she wondered if she should say her goodbye's to Benjamin and Hildegard. She could do with the man's support and kind words, though she doubted she'd be able to even breathe in Hildegard's presence—not after what happened yesterday. By God, that woman's ramblings had her dream the most sensual and heated things ever!

She'd say bye to Hildegard when she got back to Masyaf. It'd serve the woman right, after all.

Maria took her time through the small town. It really was a peaceful place, what without the townspeople and Assassin's running about. No, it was only her as she descended the layout of the city. She could understand why Altair sought to protect this place. There was an indescribable charm about Masyaf. Maybe it had to do with the birds _wee-woo_ing to each other, or perhaps it was how different and distinct the inhabitants were.

She wrapped her cloak tighter about herself and exited the city gates, immediately turning toward the stables. There was the man of her misery in all his Master Assassin glory, speaking to those three familiar novices as they handed him blanket after blanket. He silently packed the blankets into his bags before securing them on one side of the horse's saddle.

Maria approached the small group and held her hand out for the horse to sniff. The horse stamped its hoof and eagerly placed its muzzle into Maria's palm. She scratched its whiskery chin, then leaned to the side of the animal for a quick inspection.

Definitely a mare.

Maria looked over at Altair, who hadn't even acknowledged her yet, which irritated her. He was busy speaking with his men and gesturing this way and that. She rolled her eyes and adjusted the horse's bridle while the mare in turn playfully nipped at her hood.

"We will return in at least a week, Mustafa. Be sure to tell Malik that we've already left, and I expect all three of you to keep our new guests feeling welcomed and safe in Masyaf's walls. Do you understand me?"

Rakin, Nabil, and Mustafa all nodded simultaneously as they helped their master fasten the saddlebags.

"You will continue your training as always, but don't think I won't know if you three get into any mischief. Malik will give me a full report on everyone's progress when I return."

The novices, trying to look as alert as possible without showing how tired they really were, nodded again and bowed their heads in respect when they saw Maria. They each gave lazy and exhausted smiles at her, which she couldn't help but to smirk at. With one final salute to Altair, they walked back into the city to return to their warm and comfortable beds. Goodness, waking up two bells earlier than usual was just downright exhausting!

Maria watched them leave as she tried to fend off the mare's muzzle. Frowning, she held the horse's bridle as she stepped to the side. She saw Altair's look of puzzlement from her attire from the opposite side of the horse. She ignored him and strapped her saddlebag.

"Why all the blankets?" she asked as she inspected what he'd brought in his. Waterskins, lamb jerky, dates, and plenty of quilts.

"Syrian nights are cold," he slowly said as if it was common knowledge. "And if we are unfortunate to not find a village to spend a night at, then we will resort to camping. I'd rather not freeze because of ill preparation."

She stopped to look over her own saddlebag. Compared to his, she was ready to go traveling as far as the well in the marketplace. She clenched her fist from her foolishness but snapped her eyes up abruptly as he handed her another saddlebag.

"Wool," he explained when he opened it up so she could survey its contents.

"Scratchy and irritating," she brusquely replied, but gratefully accepted nonetheless. He took the blank look she gave him as a 'thank you'.

"You'll be warm, at least. If it doesn't keep the cold away, then there is no harm in sharing." Though his words were purely sincere and friendly, she didn't know if it was just her or if he had secretly stashed a hint of something _else _with that statement.

She grunted and attached the saddlebag. When she turned her head back over to him, she took a step back from the object not two inches from her face.

"Since you are still repairing your other weapons, Rauf was generous enough to lend you one of his best ever made."

She silently took the sword from him, unsheathing it and holding it out in front of her. It was magnificent and looked much like Altair's own sword, save for the eagle head as the pommel.

As she admired the weapon, he took the opportunity to scrutinize her tunic—a tunic that was very familiar to him.

Maria sheathed the sword and secured it at her waist. "In case you're wondering, you brainless Assassin," she huffed as she ran her fingers through the horse's mane, "it's rather odd and provoking to find a woman roaming around the Kingdom. I'd rather avoid a fight on the way to the caravans, wouldn't you?"

"No matter what choice of clothes you wear, Maria, I think you'll always be provoking to guards." She shot him a glare, and as a quick recovery, he cleared his throat. "She is Hafa," he explained when Maria swatted at the all-too curious horse as it nudged her chest. "She's quite spirited, but she's a mount good enough for any soldier."

"She's a little bold, isn't she?" Maria ducked away from the horse when she almost stamped her hoof on her foot. She swore at the beast.

Altair smirked and grabbed the reins. "Does she remind you of someone?"

Maria paused and scowled at him. "Of course not," she sarcastically replied as she hoisted herself up in the saddle. Her face scrunched together from a dull and unpleasant ache in her stomach. God and all his men, Aden could kick!

Shaking the pain away, she sneered down at Altair's frown. "Oh? I'm sorry, were you expecting to be in front?"

"Of course not," he smoothly replied as he adjusted the bridle. "Normally, I'd ride Shihad, but—"

"Orders are orders," Maria finished for him. She rolled her eyes just from thinking about Malik. "Understandable. Up you get."

He swung himself over and loosely wrapped his arms about her waist. "I do not expect to reach this caravan in just one night, Maria."

"I know, I heard you speaking with your men. A week, was it?" She did her best to ignore how he kept shifting his arms the slightest degree. What an insufferable man!

He nodded, then said, "If we make haste, we may be able to rest at a small village just south of Masyaf instead of setting up camp."

"Whoa," Maria breathed when Hafa pranced in place. "Well, you needn't give any more encouragement for this lass here." The horse snorted and pawed at the ground, swishing her tail back and forth. Maria lightly tapped the reins against the beast and Hafa immediately started at a choppy and demanding walk. "Spirited indeed," Maria huffed when the horse tried getting hold of the bit.

They descended the winding path that ran alongside the river surrounding Masyaf. "I suppose you and your men take dives often, no?"

Altair turned his head to look at the river, his features darkening. "Some of us do, but not all."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow and slowed Hafa down. "You don't enjoy swimming?"

He ran his tongue over his teeth. "And you do?"

He felt her jerk in the saddle, no doubt already frustrated with him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Used to go swimming every day when I was a child."

"You are not afraid?" he quietly whispered. He bowed his head; the sun was just starting to come up.

"Afraid?" She furrowed her brow. "No, not at all. Why would I be—" She threw her head back and laughed as realization dawned upon her. "Oh, you must be jesting! Don't tell me the Great Master of Assassin's can't swim?"

"I find little reason to spend my time so uselessly by attempting to float on water."

She snorted and urged the horse to a faster trot. "So that's what you think swimming is all about? Tell me, Altair: have you ever felt water rush past you, surround you, and caress every part of you while you explored its depths?"

He remained silent. That was an experience he did not need to relive.

She sighed and shook her head. "I suppose you haven't. That's a shame, really."

"It is just water. We experience water in the baths as well, Maria."

She shook her head again. "That's nothing like open water, Altair. There's no _motion _in a bath, no _life. _Where's the excitement and thrill in that?"

"So you endanger yourself just for the high?"

Maria chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Endanger myself? No, I don't do that, Assassin. Do I swim? Yes, though I doubt I'm as good as I used to be. But do I do it for an adrenaline rush? Tell me, Altair, what do you do in your spare time?"

"As leader, Maria, I have very little spare time."

"Very little spare time is still spare time," she gruffly snapped. He didn't reply. "Fine then, avoid answering me. This will be a long week ahead of us, I can already see that."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her waist. She shifted uncomfortably, scoffing when he rested his forehead against her back.

They were at the post when they spoke next. "If you're going to sleep, Altair, then you'd better not fall off, for I will not stop just to throw your heavy self back in the saddle."

He grunted and straightened himself. He looked over at the post, no doubt his Brothers watching his and Maria's every move. He sighed.

"And to think," Maria murmured as they trotted through the mountain pass, "I was taught to believe that an Arab's home was a sickening and disgusting place to live." She snorted and scratched Hafa between the ears. "Comical, really. England is such a disease-breeding country and you can't even walk five steps without setting foot in a pile of droppings. France is almost as bad, too—the Mediterranean is such a clean place compared to the Western European countries."

Maria continued to add comment after comment, trying to ignore how quiet her partner was behind her. She knew he was awake by how his hands idly clenched and twirled with her cloak. It was rather distracting for her, and she was beginning to wish she had let him in front. At least then he wouldn't be touching her—

But then she'd have to cling to him like some lovesick dog while he most likely urged the horse faster and faster like a madman. That thought alone had her mood darken considerably, and it was such a fine morning!

"Stay to the cliffside," he mumbled into her ear.

She shook her head. "I have ill experiences with such things, Assassin, and I don't think I'd fancy a run-in with brigands, thank you very much."

"Would you prefer the guards following us, then?"

"I think they'd be suspicious if they saw a pair of travelers trying to hide themselves in a mountain's shadow, Altair. Besides, what reason would they have to give us trouble? We haven't done anything to them, have we?"

"You haven't," he sighed, "but Assassin's have, and I'm in curious attire, Maria."

"That's ill preparation on your behalf, Altair, not mine. If you didn't spend so much time with those blankets, then—"

"Then we'd only have enough for one person, Maria. But the blankets don't change the fact that the guards know to look for a man in a white hood."

She sniffed and tilted her chin. "Then perhaps Assassin's should change the way they dress to be more inconspicuous. Since you _are _Grandmaster, you have the authority to change the uniform, do you not? You could easily have your men wear one of those Arabian robes, a pair of trousers, slippers, or one of those fancy and extravagant tunics that merchants wear. Maybe the guards would turn a blind eye on you, then."

"And where would we attach our weapons, Maria? On the outside of our garbs, where guards would be confused as to why we are adorned with such dangerous equipment?" He smirked when she clicked her tongue and scowled.

"Well, you'd have to wear them on the inside, then—"

"And make it difficult to unsheathe a sword or dagger when need be." His mouth twitched when she grew quiet, obviously finding fault with her own reasoning. "So you see, Maria," he continued as she grudgingly steered Hafa near the cliffs, "no matter what an Assassin wears, his appearance is still devious and uncharacteristic to guards."

"And isn't there a tenet of your Creed that states 'hide in plain sight'?"

"I don't see how one can blend with the crowd while on horseback in the Kingdom, Maria, when there are hardly any crowds to blend into. But if you happen to have a solution, I'm willing to hear it."

"And no matter what an Assassin says or does, he still proves to be a thorn in my side," she bit back. He shrugged, much to her annoyance, and tightened his hold around her when she dug her heels into Hafa's side.

* * *

"_Gone?" _Hildegard gawked. "Wh-what do you mean _gone? _And where did they even _go? _And why didn't anyone tell _me?" _

Malik only blinked at the blubbering woman in front of him as he sorted through several documents. The morning had been peaceful for the most part, save for when a few brick-headed novices decided to eat all the kibbeh and pita bread—no, he should reconsider. The morning was terrible without his kibbeh.

And now _this. _This woman, flailing her arms about while she paced the length of the study, squawking and stuttering every other word, grating on his nerves, and rampaging about! _Allah, _why couldn't Maria just _tell _her where she was going before she left? Surely this was revenge!

"And, and, what do you mean that they've been _dispatched for a week? _What am I to do in a week? Sit around and knit? Those two are the heart of the gossip! With them gone, what exciting rumors am I to hear? What will I say to the novices? How will I occupy myself?"

He stacked his papers to one side of the table and suppressed the urge to either strangle this woman or to knead his forehead.

"And why did they have to leave _now? _I _need _Maria! I'm in my hour of need, and she feels that she should just dump me in a ditch and skip happily away? Hoho, that does not please Hildegard one bit!"

Malik leaned back in his chair and looked down at the two dogs leisurely sprawled out on the floor. They both tilted their heads at him and whimpered, oblivious to his misery.

Hildegard finally stopped her anxious pacing and replaced it with dramatic wailing that made Malik's eyebrow twitch.

When she finally took a breath and sobbed helplessly, Malik forced himself to calmly explain, "They've been dispatched to deal with a hindrance to Masyaf, Hildegard. They will return in a week or so, and when they do, you'll have the opportunity to lay all your important troubles—as I'm sure they're very, _very _significant—on Maria, instead of on an innocent being who is only following orders."

Hildegard frowned and placed a hand on her hip. _"Orders? _Whose orders? Maria's? Altair's?" She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. "_Augh, _that's not important anyway, don't bother answering. What's important is—"

He braced himself yet again for another gibberish assault.

"_What_ do you mean 'a week or so'? You said a week before! Now you mean to tell me that I must wait _longer _than seven days? And where are they even going? I doubt you sent them away just to spend some time together so that romantic and emotional events may unfurl between them—that'd take the imagination of yours truly, Malik."

"Yes, well, Hildegard, I suppose that you're just going to have to wait, seeing as how I refuse to disclose their mission to you." He paused as a servant entered the study with a pitcher of ayran and a pewter goblet. They bowed their head as they set the drink and cup on the table, then left the study. Malik poured himself a glass, exhaling when Hildegard stared thoughtfully between him and the cup. He sighed and offered it to her.

Her greedy hands wasted no time in snatching the drink, then downing the contents in one, two, three gulps. He stared with wide and horrified eyes.

"Mark my words, Malik," she hissed, "I'll get to the bottom of this, just you wait! The novices are bound to know _something, _and if there's a person out there who they trust to spill the beans to, then it's me!" She whipped her hair over her shoulder as she stormed out of the study, only to return a few moments later to place the cup back on the desk. He watched with absurd fascination as she scurried away again.

Malik groaned and shook his head to himself. "Women," he grunted. "Forget the Piece of Eden—the opposite sex is man's greatest mystery." He dreadfully thought that he'd lose all sanity and end up as a drooling lump of flesh by the end of a week.

* * *

"That horse is more trouble than she's worth," Maria spat as she rolled onto her back. Altair had given her instructions to take a narrow route instead of the main road to Damascus. She agreed since there was a lesser chance of being spotted by pesky guards. What Altair didn't tell her was that there were trees littering this 'safer and faster path' with long and spindly limbs. And he _didn't _tell her that Hafa was prone to purposely letting the branches swat her riders off her back.

Altair did his best to hide his smirk as he still remained on the saddle. Hafa trotted over to where Maria was and whinnied in the woman's face. Maria snarled and would have loved to tackle the horse.

"It seems that she tired of having you in front," Altair murmured, his smirk clearly audible. Maria rolled her eyes and slowly brought herself to her feet, wincing from how her back throbbed.

"This is all your fault," Maria snapped at him. He only sighed and shook his head.

"No, it isn't," he argued. "You were the one steering her, Maria, and you saw the tree as we rounded the corner." He rubbed Hafa's dark neck as the horse bobbed her head up and down in agreement. Maria muttered threats beneath her breath as she dusted her backside off, knowing that he was once again right.

"I swear, Assassin, you and your horses are all in a league to make my days utterly miserable."

He rolled his shoulders as she made to hoist herself back into the saddle. To her surprise, he let her up front again.

Hafa watched her with amused and mischievous eyes, as if the horse was calculating whether or not to have a branch knock her off balance again. Maria glared and growled at the beast, fisting a large mop of her mane. "Don't even _think _about it," she hissed into her ear. Hafa snorted and stamped her foot, fumbling with the bit in her mouth.

"As I've said, she's spirited."

Maria scoffed and shook her head. "I'm beginning to dislike spirited, you twit." She frowned even further as he quietly chuckled. When was the last time he'd openly let his mirth show?

She tensed as he pulled her closer to him. "For your back," he explained. She hesitantly leaned into him, not very much liking how her head was nestled into his chest and shoulder, or how he now had the reins, or how his hands rested at her sides. She felt highly compromised and vulnerable.

If he noticed how stiff she was against him, he didn't say anything. He only urged Hafa back into a trot and continued their merry and wonderful way to Damascus.

It was a few hours later that the two of them even bothered to look at each other. He pulled Hafa over into the shade of a tree and dismounted the mare. Maria's stomach had been growling for some time already, and the woman was either too stubborn or humiliated to request a break. She wandered a few paces away from him as he dug in their saddlebags. She gratefully stretched her arms and legs out, sighing as she popped her neck and back. There was a small sting in the small of her back, something a massage could easily fix. But she was _not _about to go ask _him _for one. Never.

Altair helped himself to a quick drink and bite, motioning to the saddlebags as she made her way over. While she occupied herself with water and food, he wordlessly walked away to a more private place. She sneered as his pace quickened, no doubt needing to—what would Hildegard say?—drain his waterskin. She shifted her feet as she herself had to find a spot.

But _no, _she had to wait for _him _to finish. And the Lord knew how long it would take for him to finish.

Maria dug in her pack, pulling out a few dates, and held them out to Hafa. The horse picked her head up from the sparse patches of grass, her ears perking pleasantly as she trotted over to Maria. The mare's muzzle tickled her palm as she gobbled up the food. Maria shook her head and rubbed the horse's cheek and forehead.

"You're sweet when you aren't trying to buck me off or step on me," Maria mused as she let the horse have her share of the water. Hafa almost tore the skin open by how eager she was. "You're a pretty girl, too," Maria smiled as she scanned the horse head to hoof. Hafa was a beautiful charcoal color, save for a white star on her forehead. "But," Maria bluntly concluded, "you're still rude and troublesome."

Hafa's response was to blow in Maria's face, then promptly show the woman her rear end. "Oh, excuse me?" Maria huffed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Well, alright then, if that's how you want to act. Two can play at this game, horse." Horse and woman defiantly stood rear to back, ignoring the other's existence.

Maria stared at the sky, dully noting that with clouds that dark so early in the afternoon, it was bound to rain. Her boredom practically ate her alive. Where in God's name was Altair, and what was taking the man so long? Perhaps urinating wasn't all he had to do; maybe he was having trouble getting number two out. Maria laughed from the thought, earning a snort from Hafa. Maria ignored the horse's mumblings as she glanced at the top of the cliffs, admiring how when the light hit the stone just right, it glinted so wonderful—

Maria narrowed her eyes. Rocks shined, yes, but they didn't reflect light like that, especially when there was very little to begin with. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she leapt to the side, the arrow lodging itself inches from Hafa. The horse reared up, more arrows barely missing her.

Maria scrambled to her feet and grabbed Hafa's reins, yanking the panicking horse back on all fours. She winced as an arrow grazed through her cloak, slicing at her back, and clambered onto the saddle with unladylike grace. Hafa didn't even wait for Maria's feet to find the stirrups before bolting.

Maria clung to the saddle and Hafa's mane as she nearly fell off the horse. She risked a glance behind her, cursing when she saw several riders pursuing her. Maria braced herself as she situated herself properly in the saddle, shouting as her feet momentarily dragged against the rocky ground. She gave Hafa more rein as the horse increased her speed.

They couldn't just leave without Altair—she'd never hear the end of it from him! That, and although she wasn't particularly fond of his company, she'd feel guilty if she abandoned him to fend for himself.

"All because you had to piss," she bitterly snarled. Hafa didn't slow her sprint even when she made a sharp turn through a narrow pass. Maria was dangerously close to the cliffside that if she moved her left elbow the tiniest inch, her skin would be ripped clean off.

The Kingdom raced past her in a blur as Maria's eyes watered. She blinked away the tears and leaned over Hafa's neck, whispering encouragement to her. Hafa snorted and galloped even faster, lengthening the distance between them and their attackers.

Maria didn't know whether to shout in joy or give a gruesome battle cry when she saw Altair, as oblivious as ever to the danger a good one hundred meters behind her, abruptly halt in his tracks.

Maria would have loved to see his look of bewilderment and have a small chuckle from it, but with Hafa charging full speed ahead at the Assassin, it was by far _not _the time to do anything of the sort. She swung herself to the side of the saddle, outstretched her arm, then—

He was either fully prepared to be launched on the saddle behind her, or he didn't even recognize her. Either way, Altair yelped as an area of his body, sensitive to any pressure greater than a light tap, met the saddle with little consideration. He grunted as he held onto Maria's waist, baring his teeth from the pain.

"Why the _Hell _does it take you so long to find a place to pee, Assassin? And _why _so far away?" she yelled over Hafa's thundering hooves.

He blinked and fought down the temptation to cradle his injured pride. "It's called _scouting, _Maria," he managed to growl.

"Oh, of course, _scouting," _she snorted. Now she had even more reason to be annoyed with him! _She could have relieved her screaming bladder! _In fact, she should pee on him!

He tried to grab the reins from her. "Slow down, Maria, this is too fast for any hope of guards not—"

"Well, if you're so good at scouting, maybe you should look behind us and tell me what you see!"

He recoiled his head back and quickly did as she said. His eyes widened then narrowed beneath his hood as he saw what the commotion was about.

"It's all _your _fault," she yelled. "'Stick to the cliffside', he says. Well, I stuck to the bloody cliffside and look what happened, you mangy, itching, behind-headed—"

He ignored the rest of her raging insults as he turned his head side to side, trying to avoid her cloak flapping in his face. She had the right idea by keeping her head near Hafa's, and with him just sitting there in the saddle not following suit, the horse was suffering. Anyone could see that with how foam was dripping from the poor mare's mouth and onto her neck—anyone but Maria, who was too busy screaming at him.

Finally, he decided enough was enough. The cloak had to go. He got a good face-full of the material and his nose crinkled—oh good grief, it smelled like Hildegard! He fumbled with the front of her tunic, trying to find the ties that held the cloak together. He felt the thin and stringy fabric of the tie; it had to be it! What else could it be—oh, gods...

Maria shrieked and had half a mind to punch him off the horse when she felt his hands unintentionally brush against her breasts. _Damn _the arrow that grazed her back for undoing her bindings! She hissed and stiffened in the saddle, which made Hafa's gait choppy and bouncy. Finally, after what seemed like ages of him trying to find whatever he was looking for, he unsheathed his hidden blade and sliced through the ties. He sighed in relief when her cloak went flying in the dust behind them, no longer a hindrance to him.

He leaned over in the saddle, his cheek against Maria's as Hafa recovered. Maria didn't dare turn her head the slightest centimeter. If she did, she'd be mouth to mouth with that idiotic man, and she was close to smashing his stupid skull against a rock. Not only did he have bandits chase them, have her not find a decent bush to empty her canteen on, nearly grope her, but now her disguise was ruined! And on top of that—

On top of that, his arms were only wrapped in a death-grip around her waist, his body .00000001 centimeters from hers, his hips digging into her backside, and the motion of the horse was mind-shattering! All the rocking to and fro was too much for any person!

He was probably most certainly enjoying herself, most likely thinking it a proper exchange for her accidentally crushing the Ibn-La'ahad family crest.

"We aren't going to lose them," he murmured into her ear. "Bring Hafa to a stop."

She blinked and almost bashed his head from her surprise. "_What? _Are you saying we _fight—"_

_"_Yes, Maria, I am."

"Do numbers mean nothing to Assassin's, or is this just you?"

"Maria," he warned as he placed his hands over hers, "I'm completely confident in our abilities to handle them."

She chewed this over in her mind, sighing as she let him pry the reins from her grasp. "You've better be right, Assassin," she quietly threatened.

And Maria Thorpe made her conclusion right then and there: every Assassin in creation was either trying to annoy her, prevent her from answering nature's call, or attempting to get her killed. They were all out to get her.

Altair gently tugged on the reins, gradually slowing the horse down until she was at a calm canter. Giving one more tug, Hafa came to a complete stop. Altair was first to hop down from the saddle, and he promptly grabbed the reins and started at a jog until he was a good fifteen paces away.

"We aren't exactly in favorable conditions," Maria anxiously thought aloud. She was right: they'd be outnumbered and wouldn't have a decent advantage.

"But we're away from the cliffs at least," Altair reasoned as he offered a hand for Maria. She sniffed and rolled her eyes as she dismounted from the saddle with athletic finesse. He only smirked as she scowled from the jolt of pain that shot through her legs when her feet touched the ground.

"We're using a tree as camouflage?" She jutted her hip and shook her head. "You couldn't have thought of anything sturdier than this? I thought Assassin's were supposed to use the element of surprise?"

"We are—_quiet." _He clamped his hand over her mouth and knelt to the ground, bringing her with him. They both watched with cautious stares as their pursuers finally caught up with them and showed themselves.

They circled around with their mounts, glancing this way and that. There were twelve total.

"_Eyna yezhabun?"_

"_Inahom la yumkin zahabu ba'iden_."

Maria glanced to her side when Altair let his hand fall from her mouth. He silently withdrew a throwing knife and stood, poised and tall. They both nodded at each other as he helped her to her feet. His hazel eyes almost shimmered gold by how he was calculating the distance between his knife and the nearest man, gauging how much strength his arm would need to reach him. The soft patter of rain did little to nothing to calm Maria's nerves. If this man missed, then—

But Altair never missed.

With a flick of his wrist, the knife flew and embedded itself neatly into one of the criminals' necks. The rest of the group of bandits were alerted to their presence before the corpse hit the dusty ground.

Both of them didn't rush their attackers. Instead, they let the eleven remaining vagabonds charge at them with drawn weapons.

Seven of them pursued Altair while the other four surrounded Maria. She withdrew her sword and balanced herself on the balls of her feet, glaring at each of the men. She was disappointed that she couldn't see their astonishment from under their turbans, but was even more satisfied when she couldn't see their faces approve of a female body.

She gritted her teeth as one of the men swung at her. Their blades clashed together, but she had no time to counter, as not one, but two other men tried to flank her. She stepped out of the way, one of the swords narrowly missing her arm. She launched herself at them before they could recover their footing, and dealt a blow to one of their shoulders. It didn't finish him off, but it certainly caused him pain.

They cornered her and steadily forced her back into the tree. She stepped backward from a blow, tripping on a spindly root. She rolled out of the way of another sword and slammed her foot into the bandit's knee. A satisfying _crunch! _filled her ears as he fell to the ground, panting and cradling the broken bones. Maria stood on both feet and sheathed her sword. The three standing men glanced at each other from the gesture.  
_  
"_Well, _habibis," _she lilted sweetly, "you're all going to have to try a bit harder than that, I'm afraid." Though they could only understand one word she said, the taunt was as clear as day. Their dark eyes narrowed and they simultaneously charged at her. She strafed diagonally until she was behind one of them, then curled her arms around his neck in a headlock. With one powerful thrust, he fell to the ground as his neck was popped from his spine. Maria turned around right in time to see an incoming blade only inches from her face.

The bandit spat out blood and gurgled as Altair withdrew his hidden blade from his back. Maria spared a glance at the Assassin as the brigand crumpled. Altair though, was a bit preoccupied turning his attention back over to his own mob of madmen to even look at her.

Finally, Maria finished off her last man with a clean swipe at his neck. She whipped her sword free of any blood and scowled at the body. How much she hated turbans! She could never tell where the chin and neck were underneath them.

Whirling around, she just managed to see Hafa clocking a man over the head with her hooves, then trampling him to the ground. Smirking, Maria jogged over to assist with Altair's last man standing. He was a burly and broad brute, using his strength more than his wit to his advantage.

Altair struck out with his sword, his hidden blade at the ready with his other hand. His opponent, however, didn't even bother to block with his own weapon. Instead, he dropped his sword and grabbed Altair's wrist. When the Assassin lunged his left arm forward to end the other man, he had another think coming.

The bandit latched onto his other arm and slammed his forehead into Altair's. His head spun as the giant of a man violently shook his sword free of his hand until it fell uselessly to the earth. And then, to her worst nightmare, he clobbered the Assassin to the ground.

Hurrying her stride, Maria made it just in time to leap onto the man's back before he could make his killing swipe. She was about to bury her sword in his flesh, but he had other plans.  
He purposely fell onto his back, crushing Maria beneath him. She cried out from the pain and tore his turban off with her teeth. Her eyes blazing and face red, she bit into his ear and tore the thing off with a swift tug. He howled in pain, but was silenced as Altair pounced on him and let his hidden blade seep into his neck.

Altair clenched his jaw and grunted as he rolled the monstrous corpse off of Maria. The woman winced from the pain, sighing when the burden was off of her. She didn't resist when Altair took hold of her arms and helped her back up.

"That miserable heap of—" She cried out again, her back screaming in protest of standing, and would have surely fallen if Altair wasn't supporting her. She was terribly hunched over; it was a sickening sight to him. His own aches and pains were forgotten as she panted and winced. Pulling one of her arms around his neck, he gently but urgently guided her to back to the tree. Her fingers curled around the bark as she felt his arms leave her.

"Hold on," he whispered into her ear. She furrowed her brow, and that was the only warning she got before one hand firmly pressed into her back. She gasped and bit her lip to keep her scream at bay. Her bones cracked and clicked back into place, and he only relaxed his hand when her back was parallel to the tree's trunk.

"You..." she hissed between her teeth. Maria gasped again when his hand left her back. It felt as if a thousand needles were plunging themselves into her skin. "That bloody hurt..."

"I'm sorr—" He didn't even wince when her fist connected with his shoulder.

"_Don't you tell me you're sorry!" _She spat at the ground and, with as much dignity as she could muster, she hobbled away from him, rubbing her back, and tried to pull herself back onto Hafa.

Altair sighed and gathered their weapons, then made his way over to her. He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder. She looked as if she was debating whether to slug him one again or not. Exhaling, she let him help her onto the saddle, and not even a moment past before he was behind her. He easily took the reins from her and pulled her into his body. She said nothing as she used him as her personal cushion.

"We're almost at the village I mentioned earlier," he quietly said as he rested his chin on top of her head. It was the closest to an embrace he'd get from her.

She grunted and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we get there, you ruffian."

* * *

Hildegard sighed and crumpled the piece of paper up and tossed it over her shoulder. Once again, another attempt at writing down her explanation to Aden was fruitless. She pouted and slouched in her chair. Surely there was _something _that could give her inspiration!

"If only Maria was here," she bitterly mumbled, "then I'm sure I'd be able to think of something to say to him." She sighed once more and glanced at her side. Bayo was loyally sitting next to her with his head resting in her lap, staring up at her with his big brown eyes. "Even the dog thinks I'm helpless!"

"That's it," Hildegard announced as she pushed the chair away from the table. "I've had enough of this! I know just what to do!" With a triumphant grin stretched across her mouth, she pranced out of her room with Bayo following closely at her heels. The dog whined as she trampled her way down to the library in the fortress' foyer.

Hildegard made sure that none of those pesky guards were on duty, and more importantly, that Aden was nowhere to be seen, before scurrying over to one of the bookshelves.

"Now, there must be a book or two in here that can help, right?" she asked the dog. Bayo only nudged her leg with his head before sitting down again. Hildegard nodded and squared her shoulders. "Right, that's what I'll have to do. I'll have that paper written, and when Maria returns, I'll shove it in her face and flaunt my progress with such audacity and luminescence that she'll have no choice but to apologize to me! It's brilliant!"

Within a few hours of her scouring and tearing apart the library, Hildegard eventually learned that the scrolls and books either described historic battles, Assassin achievements, battle strategies, descriptions of the Creed, lessons on alchemy and healing, and also an Assassin's guide to surviving the world. She sat on the floor, a mountain of documents surrounding her as she slammed another cover closed.

"Oh, it's hopeless," she whimpered. "It's as if Maria's mocking me even when she isn't here! Oh, bollocks!" Hildegard folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. "Is it so hard to have an author that has an _ounce _of imagination in their brains? _Ugh, _this is just terrible. Doesn't _anyone _keep journals that they like to jot a few things in now and then that describes their life? But that'd probably be too much to ask for, wouldn't it?"

Hildegard blinked, a cat-like, toothy grin slowly coming into play on her face. "Oh, but _that's it! _Why didn't I think of it before? Oh, _of course!" _Leaping to her feet, she hurried past Bayo, who had successfully managed to not lose himself in the piles of books, and ran up the stairs to the fortress' tallest tower.

"Oh, Bayo darling, how could this not have crossed my mind? By Saint John, I can be such an eggshell sometimes!" Hildegard lifted her skirts as she quickly ascended the spiraling stairs. She steadily slowed down as she neared the door. Of course it was closed; he was on a mission. She hesitated opening the door. Did he have traps set up in case an intruder decided to sneak into his quarters when he was away? Or did he trust his Brothers to keep everything in order in his absence?

"Oh, cow testicles, to Hell with it," Hildegard snorted as she slowly turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Her precautions went to waste when Bayo bounded through the door and leapt onto the bed, thrashing this way and that in the sheets.

Hildegard grabbed the sides of her face and shook her head back and forth, swearing underneath her breath. "You _stupid _mutt, you could have—" Her hands fell as she took a step inside the room. She glanced about as she swayed uneasily side to side. "So, this is the Grandmaster's sleeping quarters," she whistled. "Quite unimpressive, I'd say." The room was horribly bare, save for a desk in the corner and a chest right at the foot of the bed. It was lonely just looking at it all!

"Maria's going to have to do some redecorating, I can see that. Just look at all this space! And nothing to fill it all up? No tapestries on the walls, no banners, no portraits? Not even a weapon rack or armor models? Well, I can say that I am very disappointed." She leaned against the bed. "I was expecting souvenirs of his accomplishments, some form of trophy or memorial. But all I get is _this," _she waved at the opposite wall.

"And why is his bed so big? And why isn't _my _bed this big? And why all the pillows? And why a canopy?" Her eyes became two sly slits as her mind took a more provocative train of thought. "Oh, all the things they'd be able to do in this bed. And the color scheme—if you can even call it that—is rather sensual, I believe. The golds and reds do a marvelous job creating a pleasant atmosphere. It'd be even grander if it wasn't just the bed that was colorful.

"Honestly, with his title and status, he could easily have this place looking less drab! What he needs is some Hildegard here and there in his room to banish this dreariness. Goodness, it makes my hair frizz just by looking at it!"

Leafing through some of the papers on the desk, she shook her head again. All the papers were blank. "It's as if a ghost lives here. Depressing."

She opened his chest and peered inside. A few tunics and trousers, undergarments, and—

Hildegard pulled the clothes out of the chest and threw them onto the floor. At the bottom of the chest were a few papers. She smirked and congratulated herself as she grabbed them and sat on the bed, not feeling the least bit guilty for trespassing in Altair's personal records.

And personal they were, for her eyes bulged and her mouth fell slack as she read through the paper.

"By Malik's kibbeh! This is... it's a... a... oh, rompy goodness!" She fell back on the bed, her head spinning from the words she just read. "_'Your face abuses me, night and day, hour after hour. I cannot remove you from my mind—_oh, I think I'm onto something! Alas, a solution to my problems!" She flung herself off the bed and continued reading the letter. She smiled almost uncomfortably as she finished the letter, then mechanically marched out of the room with the word 'giddy' radiating from her very orifice.

She knew just what to do with this letter!

* * *

It was a very rude awakening for Maria when they finally reached the village. She was soaked to the bone, her hair was tangled and knotted around her clip, her feet were wet and clammy, and she was so stiff that she felt like an elderly, crippled woman. And to finish it all off, she had a terrible cramp in her back, and she had suspicions that she reopened her wound.

Her feet sloshed through the mud as she trudged up the slick and slimy path up to the inn. Altair, that ass, had let her go and purchase a room for them while he led and situated Hafa at the stables. The only downside to this was that not only did she have to walk uphill in the mud, miserable as can be as the rain relentlessly poured and plastered her hair to her face and neck, but she had to walk uphill in the mud, miserable as can be with her clothes drenched and hair a mess, while lugging two saddlebags.

But curse his instructions for her to buy a room! The first thing she did was find a suitable shrub behind one of the houses, pull her trousers down, and piss on it. She didn't even care who saw her as she took a leak. It was that man's own damned fault that she was embarrassing herself, even though she knew fully well that _no one _was out in weather like this, not to mention that night was falling.

Finishing her business, she continued her search for the inn. She snorted to herself: as if Altair expected her to magically know where the inn was. After bumbling about and feeling as if she was walking in circles, she pushed open a door and let her dripping self inside. Finally, the much detested inn.

A plump and short man owned the inn, his turban almost hiding his face completely. She awkwardly walked over to him and requested a room suitable for two. The poor man was so short that she had to look down to address him!

He either pitied her for having such burdens, didn't care at all, or was very kind when he didn't complain about the seven silver coins she handed him as payment. He quickly led her through a doorway that opened into a hallway with curtains hanging from the walls on either side, spaced apart just so. She thought it was for decoration, but that theory was proven false when she discovered that the curtains were actually substitutes for doors. She mumbled a thank you as he stopped in front of an unoccupied room.  
_  
_She pushed the curtains aside and made herself at home. It was a small room, a single candle dimly lighting it up with a calm glow, with only enough rugs and cushions for one person. Oh, Altair was not going to like this. But then again, he shouldn't be the one complaining.

She grimaced as she felt her back sting. She'd have to take care of that sooner or later, preferably sooner. She sat on the rug and rifled through the saddlebags. Blankets, a few dates, and a few scraps of bandages. It'd have to do. She pulled out the latter and carefully took her tunic off. She winced as the cloth stuck to her wound. She raveled her useless bindings in a ball and set them to the side. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to see just how serious her wound really was.

Maria, however, locked eyes with the source of all her troubles as he stood in front of the curtains, head recoiled and looking more than a little surprised. She was eternally thankful that her back was to him, but nevertheless, she crossed her arms to cover her breasts.

"GET OUT," she snarled at him. Recovering from his momentary shock, his eyes swept down her back.

"What happened?" Instead of listening to her, he wasn't even a foot away from her as he knelt behind her and examined her back.

Maria felt her blood surge in fury as his hand lightly traced down her back. She tensed and curtly seethed, "An injury happened, of course. Now, if you'd be so kind as to use your head, you'd—" He was gone before she even finished her sentence. She waited a few moments before sighing out of relief. Her peace was interrupted when he once again came into the room, carrying a few things in his arms.

She stared viciously at him as he set the pestle and mortar, herbs, and bandages down next to the rug, followed by a bundle of cloth and two waterskins. She watched his every move as he unbuckled his gauntlets and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Dunking the rag in the skin, he squeezed it out and gently dabbed at her wound. She very much wanted to rip his head off and kick him off the Earth, but she let him ease her onto her stomach without a single peep. Unable to glare at him, she entertained herself by trying not to hiss at how the water stung.

"How did it happen?"

She turned her head to the side, still unable to see him. "An arrow. It was right when they attacked Hafa and me. Ridiculous how the horse remains unscathed," she muttered.

He stood for a brief moment to bring the candle closer. "And when that man fell on top of you—"

"It hurt doubly so," she finished for him. It was quiet as he continued tending to her; the only sounds were their breathing and him cleaning her wound. She probably would have dozed off if he didn't suddenly inhale like that. She twisted her neck as far as it could go, but even then, she could barely see how his face was dark and how his brow was creased. Strange, she didn't know he'd taken his hood off.

"How did you get this?" he quietly asked. He was sure that Earl didn't deal this to her.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Get what?" She turned her neck around so that her chin rested against the rug when his finger traced her skin again.

The scar was a horrid sight, even though he knew it had long healed. But still, it was a gruesome, almost raw, pink color and stretched from in between her shoulder blades down to the middle of her back. Altair busied himself with grinding the herbs down to a thick paste while he waited for her to answer.

She sighed and shook her head. "It was a long time ago, Altair." She wasn't outright yelling at him, but he could still hear a warning in her voice. "But maybe you should be more concerned with your own body, Assassin. I'm absolutely positive that you received your own bruises and pains from that ape of a man."

He spread the paste over the clean wound, then unrolled the bandages.

Maria blew out of her mouth and turned her head. "I'm quite capable of doing it myself, Assassin. After all, it's much like wrapping bindings." She would have had to look in his eyes to see the blow she dealt him. Didn't he have her trust, or was that still lost to him?

He set the bandages back down. It was unnervingly silent for a moment as she waited for him to give her some privacy. She rolled her eyes when he didn't budge, and was about to bend his ear for it, when she gasped from a feather light touch on her back.

His lips traveled down the length of the scar, skipping over her wound just to finish their course. He ignored how every muscle in her body tightened and how her eyes were trying to kill him with her glower. Blessing her with one more kiss, he breathed against her skin, "I'm sorry," before leaving the room.

As soon as she heard the curtains brush against each other, she whirled around and sat up, ignoring her back's protests. She didn't know why she was panting or why her heart was doing somersaults. She placed a hand on her chest as she tried to steady her breathing.

She glanced to her sides, her mouth opening up further as her eyes fixed themselves on two objects. Not only had Altair cleaned her wound and supplied her with more bandages, but he had also taken it upon himself to buy her new breast bindings and a freshly baked loaf of bread.

* * *

"There," Hildegard beamed as she slipped the amorous letter in Maria's possessions. Really, would it have hurt the woman to have brought along her other clothes, few as they were? "Ah, well," Hildegard shrugged, "I can't wait to see her face when she finds it, though I doubt that'll be any time soon. I'll have to get Rauf to give her a few vacation days here and there so she can have time to go through her things. What do you think?" She smiled at Bayo who was making himself comfortable in Maria's bed. Hildegard chuckled and sat next to the dog.

"First you roll around in Altair's bed, now you roll around in hers? What, are you trying to tell me they're going to go at it in doggy-fashion? Though, I doubt that they _wouldn't _do that, strange minds as they are." Hildegard stood and left the pooch to his own amusement. Besides, after all her hard work that day, she thought she deserved a nice, hot bath.

Yes, a hot bath, and then some tea while gossiping with Rakin, Nabil, and Mustafa. She'd have to wake Malik up to get the water ready.

* * *

Translations:

_Eyna yezhabun?_= Where did they go?

_Inahom la yumkin zahabu ba'iden. = _It is impossible that they went far. (rough translation)

Props to my dad for helping me translate.

Oh my, oh my. It killed me to write the ending Maria/Altair scene. Reminded me of a puppy being scolded by their master. Ohowsad:3

**UPDATE: 6/19/11: **I'm very sorry for not posting a new chapter sooner, but the second half of chapter 20 is about 1/3 completed. My files on my computer have continuously been deleted by a virus (thanks to DeviantArt) about... four times, maybe? Had to start all over on the chapter, and it's been stressing me out. I'm still trying to capture everything I had in the chapter before it was deleted, but I keep missing a few key things. It's driving me INSANE! I hope to have another chapter up in less than a week. I just wanted all my readers to know why I've been so tardy with an update. Thank you for understanding!


	26. Chapter 20, Part 2

**6/28/11: To respond to one of my reviewers, Selena, I will indeed continue this when Revelations comes out (I'll be gone for about a week just to play the game though XD). I'm not sure if anyone has read 'The Secret Crusade' by Oliver Bowden, but it tells us what happens to Altair, Maria, their sons, Malik, and Rauf. Now, I'm not going to say what happens in the book, but I WILL say this: I'm changing it up a bit. I've already looked ahead of my story months before we even heard hide or tail of Revelations, so I already have a sequel to 'Loving Hate' in my mind. I already decided on how many children Altair and Maria will have, their genders, their names, the plotlines, yatta yatta yatta. As we will see later on in 'Loving Hate', the Masyaf Assassin's will soon gain allies in at least 4 different countries. Now, for my sequel, I'm planning on bringing these allies together to face a threat that risks destroying the entire Assassin Order. Will I add some things from Revelations? Sure, as long as they don't disrupt my plotline altogether. But I'm not too happy about what Oliver Bowden wrote in his book and what Altair's and Maria's futures are (ohhh, I do NOT like it one bit). To me, the man can't write one sentence without it seeming juvenile.**

**AHA! I LIVE! Surprisingly. I'm actually 'bed-ridden', if you will. I've been giving my little cousins piggy-back-rides for how many days now? And how many times a day? You can imagine the condition my spine is in T.T **

**So, I meant to post this chapter up earlier, but I had several delays. The first was family, though I hardly call that a delay. The second was my computer. I suffered numerous computer viruses over the past two weeks, all thanks to DeviantArt. I wasn't a happy camper when all my files were deleted. Luckily, I had the chapter saved on a jump-drive, but only the beginning of it. So, I spent two weeks trying to think of everything I had in it before, and I probably forgot a thing or two. BUT OH WELL I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT THIS CHAPTER.**

**I sincerely apologize to Wolfsfussel for my awful German. Obviously, I never took the language as a class. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes, I will see to them as soon as possible.**

**Anyway. All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.**

* * *

The word 'uncomfortable' couldn't describe how Maria was feeling in the smallest degree, nor the words 'cranky, 'irritated', 'annoyed', or 'irked'. She didn't believe any word, in any language, in the entire world could title her mood. She sighed for what seemed to be the fiftieth time that morning and shifted in the saddle. Her back creaked with every movement she made, and her neck throbbed and burned without mercy. Altair's stunt the other day didn't help her back one bit; sure, he put it back into place, but each segment of her spine felt like it was on fire. At least her wound was healing nicely.

She hadn't gotten a decent amount of sleep the night before, either. Altair's proximity had something to do with it, but so did his snoring. At first, she thought a bear was sleeping in the same room as her until she came to realize that it was actually a person. She didn't find his snores to be irritating; she thought they were comforting in some obscure and strange way. His deep breathing and baritone sounds made her want to place a hand on his chest to feel its rumbles and bellows. But, she knew that she could _never _succumb to such a thing; it'd only satisfy him and make the stupid Assassin smug with himself.

And there was also the fact that their sleepy neighbors weren't actually sleeping. The moans and grunts coming from the room just opposite theirs spoke volumes of what the man and woman (presumably) were up to. It woke Maria up, and to her horror, it did the same to Altair. She knew he was awake when his snores came to a gentle stop, and she felt his eyes on her as she tried to will the sounds away from her ears. It kept her up the whole night, even when they stopped. Altair had ignored the lovers with ease and drifted off again into slumber, but she couldn't banish the lustful sounds from her head.

The gasps and mewls embarrassed her; had she made the same sounds while she was underneath _him? _Was that what he was thinking of when looking at her? Were his hands busy toying and tending to his anatomy while he imagined that _she _was the one enjoying him in such a way? She prayed to any deity that that was not the case.

Her eyes continued to droop closed, and she continued to shake herself awake with abrupt jerks of her head. Some part of her pitied the man behind her as her head would slam into his shoulder, but the other part felt as if he deserved it. After all, she had a not-so-wonderful, splitting headache thanks to his shoulder.

The only thing that was any form of encouragement and support was the fact that she only had two more days of this nonsense before returning to Masyaf. There were only two more days left of Maria Thorpe's endless torture by the arse behind her in the saddle. She was already making plans on what her agenda would be when she got back: wring Hildegard's neck, eat, bathe, sleep, choke Hildegard again, and then feed all of Malik's kibbeh to Bayo and Belle.

Her head lolled to the side, and she felt herself slipping out of the saddle. She knew that she would have fallen with little grace and dignity onto the cracked, dusty ground if a sudden arm didn't wrap itself around her waist and keep her steady. She grumbled something incoherent and blew out of her mouth.

"You should rest, Maria." She probably heard that phrase at least twenty times already. And once again, she shook her head and sighed. If she was feeling up to it, she would have swatted and lashed out at him for still having his arm around her. But _damn, _she was tired. Her thighs ached from the saddle. If she'd slept the proper amount of hours last night, she wouldn't have been in this agony. She _shouldn't _have been in this agony. She was accustomed to the motion of a horse and how rough a saddle could be—years in the Crusades trained her in that aspect.

Altair pursed his lips and frowned. He didn't understand why she wouldn't sleep for an hour or so. Was she trying to spite him by not listening, or was she just adamant about staying awake and surveying their surroundings? He doubted both; Maria wasn't the type of person that would hurt herself just to irritate someone else—was she?—and she, without a doubt, was not glancing about and admiring the view. _No one _could with eyes that heavy.

She rubbed her nose and sniffled. Though spring was ending, there were still pesky bits and pieces of pollen floating about. She cursed all the plant-life for giving off pollen so late in the season. In England, she never had to worry about allergies. It rained every other hour, and the rain did a marvelous job keeping pollen stuck to the ground and out of her nose. But _no, _in Syria, it rained once every two weeks and pollen was another civilization that was growing with no restraint.

And of course Altair wasn't affected at all. He breathed in and out without a care in the world, and she swore she heard a chuckle or two come from him when she had a fit of sneezes. He thought it all so amusing and funny how she was a fearless warrior that could, and would, pierce the flesh of any enemy, but yet she was defeated by simple pollen.

"Stop it already," she mumbled between two sneezes.

His mouth twitched as he said, "I didn't do or say anything, Maria."

"But you were," she sneezed, "thinking it. I _know _you were."

He knew that he shouldn't tease and prod at her when she was in such a foul mood, but the opportunity to attack was too great for him to pass up. "I never knew you were gifted in mind-reading, Maria."

She scowled and tried to turn around to glare at him, but his arm kept her from doing so. Instead, she glared at his arm. "You'd best watch yourself, Assassin," she hissed, "because I'll rip your head off, given the chance."

He raised an eyebrow at this and shrugged. "I look forward to restraining you from doing so."

She opened her mouth to insult him, but instead sneezed four times in a row. He smirked.

"Don't give me that look," she snarled after her sneezes past. Maria's eyes blazed as Hafa snorted and bobbed her head up and down. "And don't you find entertainment in this, horse!"

Out of sympathy, Altair pulled her closer and rested his chin atop her head when she groaned and whimpered in misery. Her hair was hot to the touch, and the sun wasn't even at its highest point yet. They'd have to buy another cloak for her, presumably one that wouldn't flap in his face.

She sighed and tugged his hood down so it offered her a little shade. "God must hate me for having me suffer like this," she thought aloud.

"Nature takes its own course, Maria, and is not guided by any form of supreme power. Pollen, if successful, will give bloom to more flowers, which will hopefully lead to new life."

"Oh, _wonderful: _more plants to give off more pollen that will, without a doubt, find its way into my nose. It's all a conspiracy, I swear it." She grunted and crossed her arms stubbornly, then paused. "You do not believe in a deity?" She knew her question was foolish. He believed in a faith—the Brotherhood—but she doubted he was a loyal, avid follower of the Koran.

"No," he answered simply, "I do not."

"You never believed, just for one moment, that there might be a God?"

She felt him shake his head above her. "In my opinion, Maria, religions are warped. Both the Bible and the Koran were, and are, written by man. Different interpretations are made by different readers. Christians believe Jesus was the messiah, while Muslims believe that Mohammed was. True, there are recordings of their existences and achievements, but I believe the Books are written as a form of enslavement." He knew the risk of what he said, even though it was an opinion. She was a former Crusader and pledged an oath to Christ.

"Enslavement?" Instead of fury, there was confusion and interest. She frowned as she blinked to keep her eyes open. "Christianity was created as an escape from Roman law and guidance, Altair. It was a method to free the people and give them hope."

"And has the hope that it brings led to something? Or is it just all in vain—an illusion, even?"

"It's led to principles that govern a Christian's life. I'd count that as something noteworthy."

"But there is still the fact that man wrote the Holy Books, Maria. I do not feel that being religious is corrupting. If the leader of each religious sect does not use the Book of God or Allah as a way to practice their own beliefs, then yes, they are helpful. But most times, I see priests and imams twisting the words of the Bible or Koran to gain control over the people. The Church collects tithes, does it not?"

"To keep Christianity functioning properly," Maria argued. "It's horrible to say, but religion requires money."

Altair tapped the reins against Hafa's neck as she made her way through a rocky slope. He was careful in slowing and urging her on until they reached the usual dried, grassy ground. "But how can you be certain that all of the donations go toward Christianity? I'm sure that the Pope has other uses for coin, as well. Would you be able to spend every bit of tax collections on what you promise the people, Maria?"

"Greed is one of our sins, Altair, and I highly doubt that the _Pope _would give in to it."

"Isn't the Pope man, though, and does the Bible say that men are flawed?"

She furrowed her brow and blinked. "Yes, it does, but it also says that our Lord is all forgiving."

"And wouldn't the Pope use this as an excuse to spend a little money here and there for his own luxuries? Not a substantial amount, perhaps only a little at a time so that people wouldn't notice, but over time, it'd accumulate and he'd be wealthy, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose you're going to say next, 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted', correct?"

"Yes, I was, but now I have little need to."

They were quiet for several moments; the only sounds were Hafa's hooves against the ground. Finally, Maria gave a small laugh and closed her eyes.

"You sound like my old tutor, Altair. He'd go on and on about how nature and man have nothing to do with religion and that God is all but a romantic belief of salvation."

"A philosopher?" He straightened in the saddle, his interest piqued.

"I suppose you could call him that, though Doctor Fuhrmannschmidt—Dr. Foo for short—never claimed he was. I didn't really know what to believe; my parents hammered the Bible into my head since I was old enough to understand them, and then there was Dr. Foo contradicting everything that I learned." She pressed her ear against his neck, delighted that there was a calm, pleasant rumble to it.

"Were you given a choice?" he quietly asked, noticing how her body relaxed against his. He felt satisfied that he was able to offer some form of comfort to her.

"A choice? Of what?"

"Of what to believe. Did your parents know that you were receiving lessons from a pagan?"

Maria smiled and shook her head 'no'. "My uncle and," she paused, "_aunt _paid for my private lessons with Dr. Foo. My tutor mainly focused on how life came to be, but he also taught literature and mathematics. I paid close attention to those two fields of study instead of his philosophical ravings." She felt a tad better from their conversation.

"Were your parents nervous about your receiving an education?"

"Nervous?" Maria chuckled. "They were petrified. Dr. Foo promised them that he wasn't teaching me how to be 'evil' or 'corrupted', but that he was in fact teaching me how to follow Christ's teachings with more faith. My parents, the fools they were, believed him. Besides actual studies, Dr. Foo taught me that just because I was a woman didn't mean that I had to rely on and bow to men my whole life, and that birthing babies wasn't all there was to my purpose." She swallowed. "I agree with you saying that religion can be a way to overpower someone else, but I don't agree completely. The Bible says that woman came from man's rib so that she would be his equal, but yet society demands women to have boring and lower lives compared to a man's. There's always the excuse 'Oh, women are warm and beautiful creatures that do not deserve the pain and suffering men must undergo. They deserve to be pampered by their husbands and loved by them in the most intimate of ways.'" Maria snorted and shook her head.

"If anything," she continued, "that reason translates to, 'Women are there for us. We'll just saddle them with our babies and be on our merry way.' At least, that's what it means to me. I don't think I'd be able to look at myself in any mirror or reflective surface if I was a cleaning, cooking, child rearing housewife. I always believed that discipline and patience builds character, and I very much like how I turned out, thanks to them."

Altair wanted to agree with her. He wanted to tell her that he absolutely admired and applauded the woman she grew to become, but he knew that words held little value to her ears. Her disgust for a life as an average woman stung him. He wouldn't want to take her freedoms and rights away, but was a family too much to ask for?

Did he, an infidel and taker of life, deserve a wife at his side and children of his own?

He sighed into her hair and nuzzled the top of her head. She took the gesture for its entire worth as she gave her eyes a little rest.

* * *

Hildegard turned in a slow, full circle in front of her mirror, admiring her new purchase. She loved how the fabric twirled around her legs and how the material hugged her curvaceous body without a bit of discomfort. She smiled and glanced at the man in the doorway.

"Well? What do you think?"

Malik stirred from his light doze and blinked his eyes. "I think it does an excellent job portraying your bold, irksome personality," he blandly said.

Hildegard rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him. "Oh, come now," she chortled, "was it so bad purchasing it for me?"

"I highly think buying dresses first thing in the morning is life threatening." _And before I had my kibbeh, _he thought sourly.

"Oh, you were already awake though, remember? Since you blatantly refused to start my bath, you had to prepare the tea. And you decided to sit through my conversation with the novices, don't you recall?"

He gave one tired bob of his head. "Yes, I remember how engrossed the four of you were to learn that the Master writes love letters to a fire-breathing dragon."

"Is that what she's called here?" Hildegard rubbed her chin and quirked an eyebrow. "Hm, it sounds fitting, I suppose, though I think it's rude to judge someone before getting to know them."

"My judgment of you has yet to be proven false."

Hildegard smirked and held back a giggle when Malik yawned. "Is that how it is, then? Alright, if you don't think blue suits me," she gestured to her dress, "then I'm sure they have other colors. I swore I saw a burgundy one at the stall," she drawled, narrowing her eyes in victory when Malik looked terrified of going on another Hildegard shopping spree.

"Blue is," he struggled to find the word that most suited how she looked. It brought out her hair color, but didn't do her eyes justice, and burgundy _did _look better on her. Her face lit up like a torch as she waited for his compliment. He cleared his throat and finished, "It's average." Her face fell and she crossed her arms.

"'Average'," she repeated. "That's it? Not 'beautifying', 'radiant', 'superb, 'sublime', or 'picturesque'? Nothing else? Just... _average?" _

He nodded without any fear of her pursed lips or jutted hip. He felt a strange pride from earning such a reaction from her; it felt good to ruffle her feathers. Maybe he was just too tired.

She tilted her chin and '_hmph'_ed. "Well, I suppose my efforts have gone to waste."

"Your efforts of boring me to near death were quite successful."

Hildegard frowned at him and ignored his comment. "I was hoping to look especially radiant while confronting Aden today. I needed something... _intimidating _to prove to him that I hold no fault whatsoever for his heartbroken state of mind. After all," she turned back to her mirror, smoothing her dress out here and there, "if he didn't worry so much, then he wouldn't have gone through all the stress that thinking of me brought him."

Malik rolled and closed his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe. "You're going to blame him for your absence?"

"And why not?" she laughed. "I was perfectly fine—well, except the bits of having my coin and belongings stolen—so there was no need to get his head in a knot over me. He should have been more concerned with himself, I dare say!"

Malik shook his head and ignored the urge to walk away from her. "Is it such a crime for a man to worry about the woman they admire?"

Hildegard turned around and gave him a bewildered look. "Oh, is that your offensive strategy, Malik? That's a bit hypocritical, isn't it? You yourself berated Altair for mourning over Maria's absence."

"True," Malik agreed, "and I ended up counseling him. Perhaps you should listen to what Aden has to say before you let your mouth go rattling off, accusing him of even having a heart."

She seemed doubtful of his words. "You and Maria are exactly the same," she scoffed. "You're always telling me to come clean with everything and to apologize. Well, I don't see how I'm in the wrong! I left England to help Maria, and all I earn is scorn for my efforts."

"Perhaps you should tell Aden that instead of dumping all the blame onto him. A man's greatest gift is loving a woman who reciprocates his feelings."

"Oh? And what makes you think I reciprocate his feelings?"

Malik shrugged. "You'd be heartless if you didn't."

"Then I am heartless." Hildegard's voice, both low and cool, sent a shiver up Malik's spine as she strode past him.

* * *

Altair tugged on the reins as Hafa trotted toward a small spring. It'd been several hours since his and Maria's conversation, and the woman was sleeping soundly in his arm. Occasionally, she'd have a twitch in her leg or in her arm that would smack against him, but he ignored it for the most part. It was actually refreshing for him to see her in such a collective, calm state of mind—even though she was sleeping.

And then he discovered her mumbles. He never knew she talked in her sleep—or snored, for that matter. She'd mumble fragmented sentences and hiss out obscenities that sounded French. He had a very good feeling where she learned the words, though he'd rather not think about it.

There was one particular word tumbling out of her mouth that caught his attention. He didn't want to assume or get carried away with his thoughts, but he couldn't help but to feel hopeful at her mumbling what sounded like his name. Then the words 'idiot', 'daft', 'miserable heap of a mule', or 'fool' would follow immediately after. He smirked as he hopped down from the saddle and led Hafa over to the spring. The horse's first priority was to dunk her head in the water and drink as much as she could. Altair refilled their waterskins and sighed when he glanced at Maria.

She was slumped over Hafa's neck and still asleep. Her face was flushed and there was sweat coating her creased brow. He carried the waterskin, now plump and filled with water, to Maria and spilled a trickle of water over her face. She groaned and scrunched her nose up as she groggily peeled her eyes open.

"Are we there yet?" she yawned. Her eyes were almost closed as she tried to look up at him. He shook his head and tied the skin closed before packing it back into a saddlebag. He climbed onto Hafa, assured that the mare had a satisfying gallon of water.

Glancing at the sun, he tapped his heels against Hafa's sides. "If we make haste, we should make it to a village before nightfall."

Maria sighed and leaned into him. When she made herself comfortable and planned on closing her eyes for another nap, he jerked her awake. She clicked her tongue and grumbled. "I suppose you don't want to travel at night, do you?"

"No," he whispered as he slowed Hafa down. Maria looked about, confused as to why they stopped. They were beneath the shade of a healthy tree with broad, supple leaves, and the decrease in temperature was noticeable. Maria let off a contented puff of air, but yelped as she felt arms pulling her off the saddle. Altair carried her over to the tree and laid her down at the trunk. She stared at him for an excuse for his actions as he sat beside her with the waterskin in his hands.

"You need to drink, Maria." When she looked ready to protest and scold him for waking her up and for something so trivial and unimportant to her, his face hardened beneath his hood. "Your skin is as red as heated iron," he placed a hand on her cheek, "and will begin to peel if it gets any hotter." She gave him an ugly look as he forced the waterskin into her unwilling hands. She felt even more like a child when he didn't leave and chose to watch her until she drank.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that she'd never win this battle. No words could change his decision. She untied the skin and took a few sips from it. He turned his head away for a moment, convinced that she wouldn't argue with him.

As soon as the water hit her tongue, she realized just how thirsty she was. Through her tired haze of mind, she noticed how sticky and dry her mouth was. She gulped down more water without any shame, a few droplets sliding from the corners of her mouth and trailing down her chin and neck. She didn't even notice Altair watching those droplets with interest.

His eyes watched her neck roll with every gulp she took. He cursed himself for knowing how soft her neck was—how it felt against his lips and the stubble along his jaw. His ears listened to the small sounds she made as she quenched her thirst.

His hands dug into the dry earth as he gnashed his teeth together. Was she even aware of what she was doing to him? Or was she completely lost in her indulgence that she didn't even notice him trying to fend off lustful thoughts?

Oh, he wished the circumstances would let him give in to his desires. How much he wanted to take that skin away from her and lock his mouth with hers to taste what had engrossed her so. But, he knew better. And he also knew what she'd do to him if he acted like such a fool.

A hopeful fool, that was.

Maria cracked a contented smile when she finished her share. Her tongue ran over her lips, oblivious to the heated jolt her companion received. He could almost feel the muscle sliding against his own—could almost _taste _its distinct sweetness. That raspberry-red delight slid back into her mouth, leaving him staring and yearning to see it again.

Maria blinked at the waterskin, her cheeks reddening further upon her discovery that she had downed the entire bag. She was about to apologize for drinking all of the water, but he shook his head, snatched the skin from her hands, and made a quick escape. Her eyes narrowed at his back as she sat on the ground.

"Everything that bloody Assassin does leaves me beyond confused," she mused with a raised brow. She smirked and rolled her eyes as she hoisted herself back onto her feet. She wobbled for a moment and leaned against the tree before taking small, steady steps toward Hafa. She adjusted the horse's bridle as she watched Altair walk off in the direction of the spring. A corner of her mouth turned downward; she felt guilty for not sparing at least a sip or two of water for him.

She popped a few pieces of bread in her mouth. They were a bit stale, but it was still food. She shrugged away the thoughts of the Assassin as he returned. Maria pulled herself back onto the saddle and waited for him to finish taking a drink. She smiled when he pulled back his hood and poured water on his face. She held back a chuckle as he smoothed the water through his hair. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before she turned her head away and twisted her fingers in Hafa's mane.

Soon, he joined her in the saddle behind her. Grabbing the reins, he spurred Hafa into a calm gallop. His breath lodged in his throat when he felt Maria untangle one of his hands from the reins to wrap his arm around her before closing her eyes.

* * *

"Ah, _confound it, _Olivia!" Benjamin shouted as the German woman captured another one of his pieces yet again. "This is foul play, I swear it!"

Olivia's mouth curved into a mischievous grin as she eyed the chessboard. "I'm sure it is, Benjamin." She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to the side as Benjamin struggled to find a place for his pawn. "You could always surrender and be done with it."

He snorted and shook his head. "The Mills never surrender, my dear. We are fearless, perceptive, brave—and prone to notice a certain blonde woman up to no good," he finished as he watched Hildegard try to tiptoe past them. His eyebrows came together and halted the woman in her tracks. Olivia looked over her shoulder and smiled in greeting. Benjamin took the opportunity to snatch one of Olivia's pieces from the chessboard. When Olivia turned back to him, he offered her one of his most innocent, endearing smiles in history.

She only gave him a suspicious look.

Hildegard nearly tripped over her own feet as she realized she was caught. "J-just who might you be referring to, dear Benjamin?" she nervously laughed.

Benjamin glared at her, but once he noticed her attire, his face lit up and he stood from his chair. He grinned and offered a hand to Hildegard, which she took in a most ladylike fashion. He twirled her around, chuckling as he grinned ear to ear. "Ahh, Hildegard, my dear, you look positively gorgeous in that dress, I must say!"

Hildegard blushed and glanced down at her dress. "You really think blue is complementary? Malik seems to think not. I always thought Maria looked better in neutral colors."

Benjamin glanced at Olivia and gave her a knowing smirk. "Oh? Malik commented you on the way you look?"

"Yes, but his words were very dull and vague," she huffed.

Benjamin chortled again and stared at her thoughtfully with his hands on his hips. "My, my, my," he breathed out. "You and Maria are blessings to this old man. I thank God every hour for letting me have two beautiful daughters." He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes.

"Oh, Benny," Hildegard sighed as she placed a hand on his cheek, "are you crying?"

"No," he deadpanned, "no, I'm not. I'm just... allergies. Yes, my allergies are quite terrible today."

Olivia groaned and rolled her eyes. "What he means is that he feels proud to be father to such a woman. But tell us: what's the occasion?"

"O-occasion?" Hildegard stammered. "I, err, n-no occasion whatsoever! Whatever made you think that?"

"Hildegard," Benjamin started as he motioned for her to sit down, "I fear that Aden's condition won't be soothed by your charms."

"And I don't think you'll be able to find him today," Olivia laughed. "He's watching over Zaina. She has a stomachache from breakfast—I believe she ate eggs with a so-called _bulgur _pilaf. I've never heard of it before, so I don't blame her."

"And you know how he is when it comes to his sister," Benjamin finished. "I'm afraid your looks have gone to waste today, Hildegard." She sighed and hung her head. "But if it helps, I hear that Nabil is looking for you. The boy probably has the latest gossip stretching from Jerusalem to Damascus."

Hildegard's spirits perked up from the news and there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

Benjamin nodded and waved her off. "You'd best be on your way. I'd hate to think what mayhem those boys are causing just to find you." Hildegard pecked a light kiss on Benjamin's cheek before scurrying off. Benjamin chuckled and closed his eyes.

"Well, aren't you the clever one today, Benjamin," Olivia drawled. Her blue eyes became two slits and she wore a catlike smile.

The veteran nodded in joyful agreement. "I always know how to cheer one of them up; Hildegard fancies pointless babbling and compliments, while Maria enjoys hearing of my battles and experiences as a soldier."

"I applaud you for that, Benjamin, but I think we both know what I'm talking about." When he smiled a toothy grin, Olivia hissed, "I'd like my piece back, you thief."

Benjamin flung his head back and laughed so loud that Olivia thought the walls would collapse. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear."

* * *

"So, is it true? Did they really find someone in the Kingdom, or are our superiors just pulling our boots?" Rakin sat on a broken scaffold, swinging his legs to and fro while Mustafa and Nabil leaned against the stable walls.

Nabil nodded and crossed his arms. "I hear they've sent out a patrol to investigate. It's just several miles south of Masyaf."

"We could be compromised," Mustafa sighed. "It's the perfect time for a Templar trap, what with our Master away on a mission."

Rakin swallowed and looked between his friends. "You aren't saying that Masyaf will be under siege, are you?"

"The reports say that he was heavily injured. What could someone in such a state do to an entire fortress—an entire fortress of Assassin's, no less?"

Mustafa chuckled from Nabil's comment. "Maybe the Templar's are trying to give an example of their men's current conditions." Nabil snorted and shrugged. "But what's so important of just one person in the Kingdom, anyway?" Mustafa mused. "There are plenty of beggars, slaves, and whores wandering around. Why is this one worthy of our attention?"

Rakin glanced nervously at his feet and at Mustafa. "Our scouts said that he had on his person something that belongs to the Master. They didn't say what it was or how he got hold of it."

"A fellow Assassin, perhaps?" Mustafa thought aloud. "If that's the case, what was he doing in the Kingdom? Only the Master and Malik have the authority to send us away, and there hasn't been a reason to dispatch anyone. Well, there are the caravans, sure, but the Master himself is seeing to it!"

"The important question to ask ourselves is this: are we going to take the man in for questioning? If he is a Templar spy, it could weaken Masyaf from the inside, and it's difficult rooting out vermin from their burrows. I say, we don't even bother with the poor soul and just leave him to the birds," Nabil gruffly suggested.

"What if it was you out there in the hot sun without any form of protection?" Rakin whimpered from his scaffold. "Would you like it if you were forgotten and left to die?"

"No, but—"

"Hot desert sun, you say? Excommunication, do I hear? Oh, this sounds like a lovely drama to Hildegard's ears!"

All three novices swiveled their heads in the woman's direction. They nodded politely at her and Rakin blushed from her beauty.

Hildegard smirked and lifted her chin. "Well, one of you have better fill me in on the juicy bits, else I'll be forced to strangle it from you."

* * *

How Maria suddenly found herself pinned beneath the Assassin's weight, she'll never know. It was an incredibly rude awakening on her behalf, and she was having such a pleasant dream, too, even though it had much to do with said Assassin and the differences in their anatomical structures. She scowled and scrabbled at the man on top of her. He forced her back down when she tried to push him off.

The sun was setting, and in its wake were long shadows beneath the cliffs. They stretched in a black abyss, swallowing anything that they touched. The Assassin and former Templar were also bathed in the darkness.

Maria huffed and struggled beneath him. "You _imbecile, _what are you—"

"_Quiet," _he hissed in her ear. She snarled again, not liking how he was pressing into her and how the hilt of his sword was digging into her hip. And then she heard what had him on full alert. It was the unmistakable _click-clack _of hooves against rock.

She squirmed and sighed in irritation. "They're probably merchants on their way home, Altair."

"Why would merchants risk their lives by traveling so late in the evening?"

"Oh, so _now _you're taking precautions when it comes to bandit attacks? _After _we've been ambushed by them once already?"

He would have shrugged if it wouldn't discomfort her further. "It's better late than never, isn't it?"

Knowing he was right, she settled with grumbling, "You brainless prick," before settling down and waiting for the threat to pass. Even the horse had more sense than her, as Hafa was silent the entire time, and even had the wit to nip and nibble at Maria's hair, knowing that the woman wouldn't dare shout and curse at the horse, lest she brought unwanted attention to them.

Maria tried to burn a hole through the mare's face with her eyes. Hafa playfully smacked her lips against Maria's forehead. The woman uttered a deep gurgle of a growl and scrunched her face up. With Altair's face so close to hers, she could see the clear, amused smirk on his scarred lips.

There were shouts of _yalla! _as the men rode past them, not even noticing Altair, the irritating horse, or the woman being irritated by the irritating horse. Then, the sound of hooves faded. They waited a few more moments before Maria gave a quick, hard jab at Altair's shoulder.

"Get off of me," she seethed. He slowly complied, watching how she sprung up and swatted at Hafa's muzzle. The horse whinnied and bobbed her head up and down in mockery. Maria tossed her head to the side and fumed when Hafa trotted behind Altair for protection.

The Assassin pat her neck and was soon in the saddle. He motioned for her. "Come, Maria." His mirth was completely audible in his voice. "We should make haste before misfortune strikes again."

Maria snorted and shot the Assassin a scathing glare before returning to the saddle.

* * *

When Altair informed her that they were nearing the village, Maria's hopes shot straight toward the heavens. She eagerly looked forward to sleeping on warm rugs and cushions than in the saddle. She'd make sure that she wouldn't have any noisy, lustful neighbors, either. That, and she could also do with a bath. Her hair felt oily and greasy, and she knew that it was probably tangled and knotted around her clip. A quick whiff of her underarms confirmed her decision of a proper cleaning.

Maria hopped off of Hafa and didn't even spare a backward glance at Altair. She wanted nothing to do with the horse; she'd let him stable her. As for herself, Maria was quick to bound toward what she presumed to be the inn.

Her hopes plummeted like a Templar falling from a guard tower once she was inside the inn.

"What do you mean '_no rooms available'?" _she barked at the owner. Her eyes were blazing in their sockets as the weight of his words fell upon her shoulders. Her body felt twice as exhausted from what he just said.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have many rooms to begin with, and those that we had available were given to the merchants." To Maria's ears, he didn't sound sorry one bit.

"What merchants?" she spat.

He sighed and cast worried glances at his other guests. This woman was making quite the scene, what with her face red and fist shaking like it meant to hit him. "The merchant Bashshar Ibn-Dhakir and his brother, Ahmed, have recently rented the palace in Damascus and have invited fellow merchants from the entire Mediterranean to their home. I can only imagine that they seek a unity of some sort between their home countries." He frowned when the woman dug out a coin pouch and placed a generous pile of the gold on the counter. His eyebrows arched from seeing the money, and he sized and studied the woman for any falsities.

She was one of the milk-skinned, he realized, beneath the grime on her face. He was insulted that a European—a _woman, _no less—had ventured into his property and viciously demanded for sanctuary. Though, he couldn't help liking—even admiring—her form. She was intimidating, to say the least, and he again felt his pride take a blow from the mere thought of a woman demanding respect. But beneath her ferocity and imposing stance was what she truly was: an inferior female. And he was delighted to find proof of her gender: pear-shaped hips, strong, lengthy legs, and a proportional bosom. He cursed himself for already being married, but knew that she'd most certainly make one man either very lucky or very cursed.

And then he was quick to notice her glower and the twitch in her brow. He glanced at the coins, and when he looked back at her, she scoffed and pocketed the money. His decision wasn't swayed by the substantial amount of coin.

Maria stormed out of the inn, her purse still in hand, and nearly collided with Altair. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a swift shake of her head.

"There aren't any more rooms available. Damn innkeeper wouldn't take a bribe, either."

He took her by the arm and began leading the way back to the stables. "How many people were in there?"

She yanked her arm free and followed closely at his side. If his tone wasn't so stern, she would have berated him for treating her like a child. "Around five or six, not counting the owner himself."

"Did they see your money?"

She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. "Yes, but—_damn," _she bit out, realizing her mistake. "But they were all high-class," she tried to reason as Altair led Hafa from her stall. "Surely the rich wouldn't rob anyone?"

"We can't be certain of that." He mumbled soothing words to the horse as her ears flicked back in forth. She wasn't agreeing with the desperation the two were showing. No, she didn't like it one bit.

"Altair, this is ridiculous," Maria continued to no avail. The man waited for her to join him in the saddle. "I'm sure there's another place to stay around here—" The unconvinced look he gave her had her exhale. She wasn't sure if she could handle another disappointment.

* * *

The spot that Altair had picked for them to spend the night at was a long way's off from the small village. To Altair, it seemed a safe place for them to stay. Maria was positively speechless with all of its luxuries: spindly tree roots, chirping beetles, overgrown patches of moss, and a nearby frog that was determined to find a mate.

She'd rather share a room with an army of sweaty whores coupling with their clients.

There was a small glimmer of light in Maria Thorpe's world when she discovered a stream not too far away from their campsite. Leaving Altair to prepare their beds, she set off.

She stepped out of her boots and pulled her clothes off. She waded into the stream, mindful of her back's tender state, and grimaced from how freezing it was.

'_Syrian nights are cold.'_

"Bloody liar," she muttered. "They're miserable winter in England, that's what they are."

After wrestling, fighting, yanking, and pulling on her clip, it finally let go of her hair. She tried to run her fingers through it, but there was a huge knot that'd take the better part of an hour to untangle. She groaned and dunked her head beneath the water, holding her breath while she rubbed the dirt off of her body. Upon emerging, she was displeased to find that she was going to be a midnight snack for the insects that inhabited the stream.

She quickly dressed again and trudged her way back to Altair. She swatted and smacked the mosquitoes on her skin, cursing her stupidity. She didn't even feel that much better. If anything, she thought she smelled like wet dog. And she was very familiar how awful wet dog smelled like; it was a most horrid mixture of rotten potatoes and farts.

'_At least my face is clean,' _she internally sighed. She ignored Altair's look of bewilderment when she reached the camp. She probably looked like a wreck, and the angry glance she shot him did wonders to keep him from asking. She hurried into the blankets he set out and wrapped the fur and wool around her shivering body. God, even her bones felt like ice.

"No fire?" she groaned.

"The flames wouldn't go unnoticed by cutthroats," he shrugged.

Maria fidgeted as she rubbed her legs together and brought the blankets up to her nose. She flinched when she felt additional weight on her, but then realized that it was Altair dumping more blankets. She hoped that the softness in her eyes told him her appreciation.

There were only the beetles and Altair's soft footsteps as he tied Hafa's reins to the tree (the frog had given up his battle for reproducing). Maria turned her head and quietly watched as Altair whispered to the horse and didn't spit or curse when Hafa nuzzled his mouth. Through the darkness, she could just make out a smile on his lips as he tugged on her mane.

"_Tosbeheena 'ala khair," _he breathed into her ear. She nudged his chest and nickered before he padded away from her.

The Assassin's eyes locked with Maria's, and how he knew exactly where they were in the dark, she'd never know. She blinked and rolled onto her side so her back was facing him and curled up into a ball. She heard him unbuckle and unstrap his armor and lay the weaponry out here and there amongst the blankets—probably for a more convenient reach if they were to be assaulted. He exhaled, then lied down next to her and pulled his own blankets over himself.

He was well aware that though they were away from the village, there was still a potential threat of being robbed. He glanced at Maria. She obviously wasn't going to keep watch, but he didn't mind. He'd gone days without sleep before.

He listened to Maria's shallow breathing. There wasn't the slightest possibility that she was already asleep, and he sighed. A question that had been haunting him for over a year came to mind. He knew it wasn't the most convenient of times to ask her; she had a rough day and now a rough night. But he felt that with every chirp from the beetles, every one of Maria's breaths, and each beat of his own pulse, he was being taunted. Altair shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Maria?"

The woman grunted a 'hm' in response. When he didn't speak, she rolled over to face him. "Yes, Altair?" she whispered. The golden sheen in his hazel eyes captivated her steel-blue.

"Why did you leave?"

She frowned and opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed and swallowed, noticing how dry her mouth was. He waited patiently for minutes as she struggled to come up with an answer. He thought she wouldn't even say anything, but she proved him wrong.

"When I volunteered to take Robert's place at Madj-Addin's funeral, I had to leave Benjamin and my squire, Damiel," she stiffened from the name, "behind. I knew that if I let them accompany me, I'd be risking their lives. I couldn't bring myself to do that. So, I brokered a deal with Robert: I would buy him precious time at the funeral, and in return, he'd allow Benjamin to leave the Crusades." Maria uttered a small chuckle and closed her eyes. "Since Damiel was under my wing and authority and _not _Robert's, I gave Damiel freedom; he was no longer part of the Crusades, same as Benjamin.

"I knew that Damiel would try to follow me into Jerusalem. So, I had Benjamin take him to England where they'd both be safe. I told Benjamin that once my business in Jerusalem was finished that I'd write to him to let him know that I was still alive. Well," she sighed, "I never had the chance to do that. After having my neck spared by you, Altair, several Templar officers grew suspicious of my actions. They had me under constant surveillance and forbade me from communicating with anyone outside of Acre's walls, those twits.

"About a month after the funeral, you know what happened. You held me hostage, brought me to Cyprus—you know the story from there and our voyage to India. You see," she paused, her voice wavering for a second, "after... the night in Acre, I received a letter from Benjamin. Somehow, he received word that I was still alive. You could only imagine how relieved he was; he and Damiel thought I was dead. He asked me to come back and visit him. I agreed."

Maria blew out of her mouth and chewed on her lip. "But it's in the past, now—"

"I searched that entire city for you," Altair quietly said. He inched closer to her so that his nose touched hers. "I spent months sending my Brothers to Acre to find out what happened to you."

"I didn't know I'd be leaving—"

"Do you know how many thoughts were swarming in my head, Maria? I thought you'd been captured by Templar's. I thought that you were hiding from me. I thought that you were _dead." _

"That's ridiculous—"

"I didn't know if something even happened to you, Maria. After tearing apart Acre, I _didn't know _what to do. I sent teams to Damascus, Jerusalem, and even Aleppo, but you were nowhere to be found. It was as if you didn't even exist. Finally, three months after your departure, I found _something _out. I overheard a young soldier rant about a woman—and by his description, I _knew _it was you—who had left Acre's ports to return to her home country."

Maria balled her hands into fists. "You did all that searching, yet you didn't find the letter I wrote you?"

"Malik had all the letters from you burned."

"I never sent it," she breathed. "I left it in my house in Acre. Don't tell me you didn't come across it?"

"I searched every drawer, every corner, every table, and every inch in that house, Maria. There was _nothing _of importance in it."

"Well perhaps someone saw it and discarded it. I wrote where I was going and that I'd contact you once the ship reached port."

She saw a spark flash in his eyes. His breath fanned her face as his nostrils flared in anger. She never tore her gaze from his as he searched her eyes for lies that weren't present. He knew Maria Thorpe to be a liar on occasion, but for her to speak anything except the truth in a matter as sensitive as the one they were discussing was below her.

Finally, Maria broke the silence by picking at his blankets. She compared hers to his and realized with a guilty conscience that he'd given her his as well. Snaking an arm underneath the cloth, she found that his sleeve was frozen and could only guess that so was his skin. She slid closer and threw her own blankets over him. Seeing his startled face, she explained, "There is no harm in sharing."

The familiarity of the words wasn't lost upon him. His expression softened and he reached out to cup her cheek. Their heads were only at best an inch apart, and he leaned in. Yet before his mouth could meet hers, she turned on her side so that her back was against his chest. Though they were pressed together, she could feel the distance her action created. She sighed and fished beneath the blankets until she found his arm. She pulled it over her waist and brought his hand to her lips. She placed a light kiss on the stub where his ring finger should have been, then laced her fingers with his. She felt him relax and wrap a leg around her, bringing her warm body nearer, before breathing into her hair.

* * *

Mustafa tried to peer over the crowd gathered at Masyaf's gates. He stood on the tips of his toes and huffed impatiently when he still couldn't see what the commotion was all about. A quick look at Rakin and Nabil confirmed that they had no luck, either. Mustafa grabbed their arms and motioned toward the fortress.

"Let's get ahead of this mob while we still can," he called over the shouts of the noisy spectators. The three novices pushed themselves from the knot of people and scrambled up Masyaf's slopes. They were out of breath by the time they reached the castle.

Mustafa placed a hand on Rakin's shoulder and instructed, "Go and inform Malik. Nabil and I will stay and help our Brothers."

Rakin pouted and whimpered, "But I want to help—"

"I doubt you'd be able to stomach the sight of it," Nabil said as he ushered Rakin in the fortress. Bowing his head, Rakin scurried away to fetch Malik. His friends were absolutely correct; his stomach was already doing flips and cartwheels.

* * *

"Is it a grape?"

"No."

"It's not some sort of berry, I know that."

"Correct."

"Is it an apple?"

"Close, but not quite."

"Is it a peach?"

"Close again, but no."

"A piece of melon?"

"No."

"A plum?"

"You were closer with apple and peach."

"Did you smash an apple and peach together just to fool me?"

"No."

Hildegard pouted and tugged the blindfold from her face. She stared at the bowl of fruit; she never saw anything like it.

"It's called loquat," Malik explained. She rolled her eyes. "It originally grew in China and India, but it's been cultivated to grow in Mediterranean climates."

She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "It still tastes like an apple, though."

"It's a close relative of the apple, as is the peach. That's why you were close with those answers."

"Uh-huh," she grunted. "Sure, why not, I'll settle with that explanation." She took one of the loquats from the bowl and was about to pop it into her mouth, but was stopped as a sudden hand grabbed her wrist.

"The pit is poisonous," Malik stated as if it was common knowledge. "Several of my Brothers have even acquired fevers from the skin. This is why you use a knife—"

"To peel it like an apple," Hildegard finished. "If it's so similar to an apple, why give it a completely different name?" She accepted the knife he handed her and scraped away the skin.

Malik smirked and picked at his chair's armrest. "Just because it has similar attributes to an apple, it should be the same thing? That'd make categorizing very difficult."

She set the knife down, opened the fruit like an orange, and emptied the pit on the table. "Yes, well, not everyone is worried about sorting and placing titles here and there, Malik." She chewed the fruit, then stopped to look at Malik. He had a smug smile on his face. She swallowed, narrowed her eyes, then slowly asked, "Tell me, something, Malik. Do you enjoy making me uncomfortable, or are you like this to everyone you meet?"

He shrugged and blinked. "Consider this revenge for last night."

"Oh, I see, now," she drawled, finishing the fruit. "You're trying to bore me with your knowledge on fruit so that I'll be up until morning, bored out of my wits and tired beyond repair, correct?"

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," he smirked. "I've merely noticed that you enjoy indulging in food, so I chose to introduce you to something new." His mouth twitched when he saw her lips tighten into an unamused line. "Is it such a crime for me to be considerate?"

"I hardly think damaging my brain by teaching me about fruit is considerate."

"But it brings up an interesting topic, does it not?"

She recoiled her head back and gave two shakes of her head. "I don't see how it does."

He pushed himself from the chair and began tidying up Altair's study. "Loquat are related to apples, yet they aren't the same. Their taste is very similar, but there's still another sweet flavor that makes it distinct." He nodded at Hildegard and continued, "Loquat are like people in a way. You are a woman, but I don't classify or think of you the same way I do with every other female I see."

Hildegard's mouth fell slack as she fought to find something to say. All that came out of her mouth were broken sounds and stutters. Thankfully, a winded Rakin decided to stumble into the study to save the day.

"Master Malik!" he screeched as he caught his breath. He didn't spare any formalities or even acknowledge Hildegard. "Master Malik, they're bringing in the body!"

Malik frowned, nodded, then rushed out of the study, leaving Hildegard to wipe her sweaty palms on her dress.

"What body?" she asked when Rakin wasn't as red in the face. "Is it the one they found in the Kingdom?"

He bobbed his head up and down and sat down in a chair. "Yes," he panted, "our scouts are bringing it in."

Hildegard placed a hand on his cheek before hurrying after Malik. She took the steps two at a time and ran into the Assassin's back. She blinked and stumbled backward, but a pair of arms kept her from falling. Looking over her shoulder, she gawked as all color drained of her face.

Aden's arms steadied her and helped her regain balance. He rested his hands on her shoulders as the scouting team entered the foyer, carrying a limp and bruised body. Hildegard pitied them for having to lug such a stench back to Masyaf. The entire foyer smelled like feces, hot metal, and death. She covered her nose with one hand as Aden leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Master Malik," one of the scouts bowed his head, "we've done as ordered and returned with our find. But as you can see, I fear we may not be able to gather anything of importance from it." They lowered the body on the floor with care, and, after they were done with that task, took several steps away from it. Hildegard couldn't blame them.

Malik approached the foul-smelling heap and knelt beside it. His gaze swept to his side when Benjamin sat on the floor as well. Malik seemed unimpressed as Benjamin searched the body.

"He has a pulse," the veteran confirmed, "but it's severely weak. He probably won't last much longer than another day." The Assassin's in the room lowered their heads and mumbled out of respect. Some left to find Asiya. Hildegard untangled herself from Aden's arms and joined Malik and Benjamin. She could feel the torn man's eyes on her back the entire time.

She brushed away bits of matted and dirty hair from his forehead. Her face twisted in sympathy and also in disgust. "No one deserves this," she murmured. "Not even a devil's man deserves this... this..." Her voice trailed off as she peeled back an eyelid. Brown. No, not brown. A rich, caramel sweet swirled in tender, melted chocolate.

A brown that would never betray his friends or loved ones, a brown that would fight until the ends of the Earth for justice to prevail, a brown that would comfort and embrace a wounded comrade.

"Damiel brown."

Malik and Benjamin both turned to her. She stared at Benjamin, feeling the loquat she ate rise to her throat. "Damiel brown..."

Benjamin's face became as white as a sheet. His entire frame shook as his eye bore into that of the body's. He slumped forward, the only thing keeping him from falling was his hands. He didn't know that the entire Rose present was surrounding him—didn't know that Hildegard was holding his hand in a death grip, or rather, couldn't _feel _it.

If Maria had not left for the caravans, the Rose would have been fully reunited.

* * *

Translations:

_bulgur: _a type of Middle Eastern grain. I eat it at least 3 times every week (thank you, father)

_Tosbeheena 'ala khair: _Arabic for 'good night'

Loquat: just as I described it to be.

And here's my FF, Fun Fact, to go with the 'loquat'. A few days ago, my dad brought me a strange fruit that I'd never seen before. I tried it since both of my sisters said it was delicious. The second it touched my lips, I had an allergic reaction. I'm allergic to apples. Loquat are related to apples. Hence, I despise the fruit.


	27. Chapter 21

**8/5/11: My dearly beloved readers, I am putting this up right now, at 10:57 AM to let all of you know that I am about halfway done with the next chapter. Please expect an update within a few days. Thank you all :D**

**A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay of this chapter, but ehh, well, here is my excuse as to why: I have discovered Dorito Crash Course. Yes, I know, I am pathetic like that, but it's just so much fun watching your XBOX avatar getting their butts kicked by hammers and being sent flying across the screen :) I'm still having some trouble with the Japan levels...**

**I'll try NOT to become addicted to it and to update sooner for my next chapter.**

**...but no promises ;)**

**And for those of you who are whimpering for some sexy-time between Altair and Maria: Sorry, but you're going to have to wait... You'll see what I'm planning...heheheh... -evil laugh- But I'm glad that people enjoy the cuteness between Altair and Maria; your reviews are very encouraging and I appreciate it! And also a special thanks to Maki-San for helping me out with the Spanish translations- you're my hero!**

**All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.**

* * *

"Get him to the infirmary." Malik's voice pierced through Hildegard's and Benjamin's—as well as the entire Rose's—reverie. He stood and motioned for the small team of Assassin's. "Carry him carefully, Brothers." Malik began barking orders this way and that, ordering that the infirmary be closed off to the novices, for someone to find and crush herbs down, for fresh towels and blankets, and for someone to ready Asiya's medical instruments.

The Assassin fortress was a flurry of scrambling men in a matter of seconds.

He spared a glance at Hildegard, and a corner of his mouth turned down. The woman was still on the floor, her hands to her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks, one by one. One look at her companions told him that they were just as traumatized as she was; the big Arab and what Malik presumed to be his younger sibling were frozen to the spot, the German woman was white in the face, and Benjamin—

He couldn't care less about Benjamin. Who he did have concern for however, was the woman on her knees with heaving shoulders. With his only arm, he tightened it about her waist and pulled her to her feet as if she was made of glass. When her teary eyes met his, he swallowed and whispered to her, "Come." He held onto her arm as he led her to the infirmary, occasionally having to slow his pace down to match her shaky gait and uneven steps.

Malik frowned as he felt a dreadful, icy pressure that continued to grow on his person. He turned his head as he was about to enter the infirmary, just in time to see the dark, threatening glower of the colossal Arab man. Malik raised a bored eyebrow at the man, causing his glare to intensify. Malik turned his eyes down to the person in the man's arms. The Assassin couldn't help but to smirk as Aden held onto an unconscious Zaina.

Malik paused as Hildegard stumbled over her feet. He glanced at the woman in his arm, then back at Aden. The other man's muscles coiled together as Malik's lips twitched in pure amusement, then turned into a challenging sneer. The monument of a man looked as if steam was shooting out of his ears—a feat that Malik would have applauded to gain a response—if he had two hands, of course. Aden shook his head at the man before turning away with his sister cradled in his arms, as if she was a precious work of art.

Snorting and rolling his eyes, Malik urged Hildegard on into the infirmary. His Brothers were already there, gently placing the body on one of the tables. Asiya, to Hildegard's surprise, wasted no time in shoving her large build forward, clicking her tongue and shooing away the scout team.

Malik's arm fell limp at his side as Hildegard pushed past the scrambling Assassin's. She rolled her sleeves up and followed suit as Asiya dunked her hands in a basin of wine. The healer's face contorted as she recognized the blonde, European woman. She eyed Hildegard up and down, muttering incoherencies beneath her breath. Sighing, Asiya slackened her shoulders and marched over to the body.

With a gentleness Hildegard and Malik did not think possible from the brutish woman, Asiya removed the few scraps of clothing from the boy. The three of them gasped and cringed from the damage; Hildegard covered her mouth and bit her bottom lip.

Damiel's dirt-, blood-, and sweat-covered skin was dotted with punctures. The holes ran across his entire front, and Hildegard could only guess that his backside was the same. Large, circular imprints lined themselves in an unnerving, straight line down his chest and to his navel and the area between his legs. The brand on his penis was purpled and swollen with fresh scabs here and there.

His arms, so bony and thin, had the flesh wrangled and torn at with what appeared to be—

Hildegard swallowed the bile building up at her throat. Stitches. There were stitches running in zigzags over his arms. Cruel, harsh stitches woven together with hair-thin wire that pulled at the flesh, making any sudden movement rip the skin in two.

Asiya shoved damp towels in Hildegard's and Malik's faces, motioning toward the boy. "Gently clean body." The healer gathered the herbs on a nearby stool and threw them into the mortar. The salves that the scout team quickly made would not nearly be enough for the gruesome task ahead.

Hildegard nodded and brought the cloth to Damiel's arm. The rag went flying across the room and hit the floor with a soggy thud when an arm shot out and held onto Hildegard's wrist with a firm, deathlike grip. Hildegard didn't even have time to gasp as Damiel's eyes sprung open.

He stared wide-eyed at Hildegard. Not even the slightest bit of recognition touched his face as he glared at her with impossible brutality.

Hildegard squeaked and motioned for Malik and Asiya to stop as they hurried over to her. With her free hand, she rubbed it against the one suspending her wrist. The corners of his eyes wrinkled from the kind gesture—the first he'd seen in over a month of never-ending torture. His grip loosened, and she brought his hand to her face.

"You're safe now," Hildegard whispered into his palm, "Damiel idiot. You're safe, you little fool."

Still no recollection crossed his mind. He licked his cracked lips and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Hildegard nodded in sympathy and traced circles on his palm with her thumb. A croak, then a cough, escaped his lips as he struggled to form words. A sentence, so faint and soft, tumbled from his mouth. His lower lip quivered in irritation as he tried again for Hildegard to hear him.

"_Padre, haz que termine, haz que todo se detenga," _he breathed out just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Hildegard creased her brow and looked over her shoulder at the other two present in the room. They shook their heads, not understanding the boy either.

Damiel's eyes widened, his irises almost consuming his pupils. Hildegard was just about to soothe the boy and calm his nerves, but his hand on her cheek latched around her throat. Malik was at Hildegard's side in an instant, but again, the woman halted him.

Damiel's eyes slanted into two angry slits, and the vein in his forehead protruded forward. _"__Llevate lejos el dolor—duele, Padre!" _he cried out.

For a moment, his hand clenched and unclenched, then went slack as it fell back onto the table. Hildegard took a step back, her hand at her neck.

"We need to restrain him," Malik said as he unwound a bolt of cloth. "He's too unstable to trust."

Hildegard shot a glare at the man. "No," she countered. "No, we will not do anything of the sort." Malik gave her a look that questioned her sanity. "Does he _look _like he needs more mistreatment? Or are you blind to the cuts and scars all over his body?" She didn't wait for an answer as she continued, "No, what he needs is trust right now, and binding him won't do him any good."

"It will do _us _good though," Malik deadpanned. "I hardly think risking our own health is worth—"

"And _I _hardly think that you comprehend how _important _this boy is," Hildegard finalized with a clipped tone. She shook her head and grabbed another wet cloth. She pressed her lips together as another scream tore through the air.

"_Dios mio, haz que se detenga! Sus manos, me lastiman! Cúbreme ya con el beso de la muerta, Padre!"_

Malik's brow twitched, and Hildegard's face paled as they continued cleaning the wounds.

"They travel all over," Damiel whimpered, tossing his head to the side, "hurting everything they find… _duele, Padre… Oh, Padre, duele demasiado."_

"Damiel?" Hildegard whispered as she dabbed his face. "Damiel, what's hurting you?"

He was silent for several moments before groaning out, "The nails… in the box, everywhere… scraping—the heat. It burns. _Padre, _it's burning me. It finds its way into my skin, _enroscándose_ _y azuzando… _Blood. Everywhere. _Mi sangre." _

Malik stopped and stared at the boy. His face, now clean, was youthful but drained of any form of spark or life. His eyes were sunken and cheeks hollow, but underneath his fatigue and stress was a boy no older than twenty years. If _he _was still alive, if that veteran didn't slice the life from him, _he'd _be near this boy's age. Malik gritted his teeth.

"The voice does not soothe," Damiel whispered, "it promises more pain." He turned his head so that his dull eyes bored into Hildegard's. "More pain?" he asked with uncertainty dancing in his eyes. His lips trembled as his eyes watered.

"No, Damiel, there won't be more pain—"

"_Sí," _he nodded, "_necesito más dolor. Necesito muerte." _His head rolled to the side so that he could see Malik. The Assassin felt his entire body, bones and all, freeze when the boy's eyes fell on him. The face he held was terrifying; it was as if he was searching for an answer that Malik held. "I kept her safe, _Padre." _Damiel cracked a small smile, lazy tears falling from his eyes.

Malik swallowed.

"_Ella está a salvo," _he sighed. A devious, wicked, but yet happy smile stretched across his dry lips. "But I am dead," he announced, looking back and forth between Hildegard and Malik. Damiel frowned. "I am dead," he assured himself, blinking at Malik for confirmation. "_Estoy muerto, sí?"_

They both mouthed the word 'no'. Damiel's face fell. His eyes found the cloths tending to his wounds. His gaze settled on a crusty gash near his knee. His face first twisted in horror, his neck becoming taut, then shifted into confusion, and from there, into understanding. His weak muscles relaxed, and his body emitted a strange calmness that startled his two caretakers. His eyes crinkled at the corners again, and a compassionate grin graced his face.

It was as if _he _was trying to comfort _them. _"It laughs," he declared. His eyes twinkled as if he knew a secret that could change mankind—a forbidden yet comforting secret. "It laughs," he repeated, nodding his head at Malik. "It laughs—_lindo—_and gleams in the darkness. And then," he sighed, "then it is inside me. Everywhere. _Los dientes del demonio muerden mi carne._

"His hands," Damiel continued, "his hands. The creation of the _Cruz _destroys me." His fingers dug into his palm, opening one of the cuts and drawing a bit of blood. Using the blood as paint and his finger as a brush, he drew on the wooden table, his full attention still on Malik. "I am being pulled in different directions—_diferentes caminos. _

"_Padre, por qué tus garras no lo terminan todo?"_

Malik wasn't certain what was more unsettling: the fact that this poor excuse for a living being had lost every speck of sanity in his brain, or that he was drawing a symbol stitched on every banner in Masyaf's fortress.

* * *

Maria frowned in her sleep and swatted a lazy hand at her side. There was a faint tingling and prickling coming from the back of her head. Caught in the poisonous gases of the 'I'm-Just-Waking-Up-Leave-Me-Alone-For-Ten-Minutes' Disease, she mumbled and pressed herself further into the solid warmth behind her. No, 'warm' wasn't the right word to use.

It was more than that. It was the feeling of cleaning every inch of her body and soothing her pulled, worn, and aching muscles in a hot and steaming tub, and then collapsing in a bed adorned with fresh blankets. From the back of her mind, she recalled how Benjamin would have the Devil's time trying to even get her out of bed whenever she wanted to indulge herself with luxuries. Oh, the poor man. How she drove him to the point of dumping icy water on her.

She smiled and hummed as she felt something brush against her neck, then caress her jaw. She moaned when it tapped against her cheek, and then drummed itself against her chin. She pouted her lips when something touched them. She wrinkled her nose and—

_Croak. _

Maria opened one eye, then the other as she came face to face with a—

"It's been staring at you for the past three hours."

Her breath caught in her throat from the voice behind her. Unconsciously, her muscles readied themselves to send a punch or two. Just when she was going to let her fist fly, she closed her eyes and sighed, remembering who it was. Maria heard a chuckle and rolled her eyes beneath their lids.

She glanced at the hand resting on her jaw, smirking from the thumb running over her bottom lip. She cringed when she felt another prickle, this time near her scalp. She turned over to look at the man behind her, unbeknownst to the fact that due to the action, she crushed his hand with supreme effectiveness.

She blinked at him, and he blinked back with a knowing glint in his eyes. With her brow furrowing, she sat up and turned her head over her shoulder. She quirked an eyebrow at him when she saw the few strands of hair knotted around his fingers. She hesitantly ran her fingers back and over her scalp, watching him as he tilted his head to the side.

She didn't find even the beginnings of a snarl.

"How long did it take you?" she asked, knowing how badly tangled it was after she tore the clip from her hair.

"Most of the night," Altair shrugged, stretching his limbs out.

She snorted and gave him a dubious look. "I don't think it takes that long to comb through hair."

"I didn't want to wake you, Maria. If I did, I'd never hear the end of it."

She rolled her eyes then smirked. "You're bloody right you wouldn't have," she chuckled.

He grunted and stood, gathering his weapons and strapping his armor back into place. "It's much like wool," he said to her as he finished buckling his gauntlets.

Maria was still a heap in the blankets, pulling her boots on. "What is?" When she didn't receive an answer, she scoffed, "Are you telling me my hair's itchy and irritating?"

"I never said any such thing, Maria," he replied, his lips twitching in amusement. She didn't seem so amused. "It resembles wool," he mused to himself. Altair untied Hafa's reins from the tree and petted the horse's muzzle. She grumbled a sleepy whinny and pressed her mouth into his palm. "It's thick and warm."

She stared at his back as he adjusted the bridle and saddle, knowing her cheeks were probably flushed pink—_damn _that man, and _damn _him for not even _looking _at her. She clenched her fist and opened her mouth to speak—

_Ribbit._

Maria cocked both eyebrows and glanced down at the little creature to her side. Her face softened and she smiled at the animal. "Why didn't you kill it?"

He spared a quick glance at it then turned his attention back to the horse waiting to be pampered. "It didn't do anything wrong." Hearing her move from the blankets, he glanced at her and saw her scoop the animal up in her hands. "If you're disgusted by it—"

"I like frogs," she whispered as she held its trembling body. She placed a kiss on its head, not knowing that Altair was watching her. She recoiled her head when the frog croaked again and wore a smug, human-like expression. It looked like it was puckering its lips out at her. She frowned then walked off to the stream she found the night before.

Kneeling, she eyed the creature one last time. She _swore _it was giving her suggestive looks. She snorted and shook herself free of the thought. "Disturbing," she muttered as she let the frog hop his merry way into the damp weeds around the stream. Splashing some water on her face, she trudged back to Altair, her arms crossed over her chest.

She'd always thought frogs resembled people in a way; they were complicated and misunderstood creatures. She made it back just in time to see him put the last of their blankets back in the saddlebags. She tilted her head to the side, sizing him up and down.

Altair was a lot like a frog. At first glance, he seemed like a person you wanted nothing to do with and stayed clear of. Even when knowing him, he was still a mystery.

Maria held back a laugh from thinking of the face he'd make if she told him that. He'd just complimented her, after all—at least, she _thought_ having her hair called 'thick and warm' was a compliment. Then again, she could name _plenty _of things that were 'thick and warm' that weren't too pleasant. There was Benjamin's beard in November (why the sod _insisted _he let his facial hair grow out, she'd never understand), the fat rolls on several merchants, sticky chainmail during the hottest time of day in the summer, Bayo's breath after drills, and camel droppings (according to Damiel).

She took the loaf of bread and waterskin he offered without a word. She leaned against the tree, nibbling on her breakfast, still pondering over the bizarre and complicated thoughts her mind was capable of harvesting.

She shuddered and held back a gag. Yes, he was definitely similar to a frog.

But she doubted he'd be so forward as to _pucker _at her. He was too proud to do that. What he _would _do, though, would be to demonstrate his cunning and ability to persuade her to let him have a taste of the opposite gender, either with his hands, his words, his eyes—

_God, _not the eyes. She cursed him for having such long lashes—was that fair?—and for possessing such intensity in those hazel pools. She _knew _she was prone to losing herself in his gaze, and knew that he'd be more than obliged to be her guide as she traveled through his territory.

Oh yes, he'd definitely do _that _to get on her nerves. It sounded like something he'd do—the bastard _always _took pleasure in annoying her. Even thinking of him annoying her annoyed her.

She held out the rest of her bread to Hafa. The mare gobbled the food up and smacked her lips against Maria's palm. The woman smiled despite her relationship with the animal, and rubbed the star on her forehead. Hafa nickered and nuzzled her chest.

Maria pulled herself on Hafa's back. She could feel his eyes on her, and soon, he was behind her. She tried telling herself that _no, _he _wasn't _angling his face like that so her hair, now 'thick and warm' and flowing in a dark mass over her shoulders and back (she decided to reward him for his hard work), brushed against his cheek. But she knew better. Sighing, she spurred Hafa into a canter, eager to reach the much-detested caravan that day.

"She can be yours, you know," Altair murmured into Maria's ear. Maria looked back at him.

"Who, Hafa?" He nodded, and she couldn't help but to throw her head back and laugh. "Please, don't tell me you're _serious—_you must be jesting for suggesting such a thing! Have you seen the way this beast looks at me with mischief pouring from her very being? Or were you too distracted by something else?"

Any normal man would have been distracted if the woman of their life didn't give one complaint from having their hands rest on her hips, and Altair was by far a normal man. He frowned and shook his head. "She seems to have taken a liking to you, Maria."

Maria grunted and mussed the mare's mane. "Well, what do you think of that, girl? You fancy being mine?" Hafa bobbed her head and snorted. "You see, Altair? She's in obvious agreement with me, I'd say."

The Assassin sighed at Maria. She turned around so that he could see her triumphant face, but she ended up frowning. She didn't notice the bags under his eyes before or his slumped shoulders. Clicking her tongue, she pulled Hafa to a stop and hopped down from the saddle.

"In the front you get."

He didn't move in the saddle. He tilted his head to the side. "There is no need, Maria—"

"If you fall off the bloody horse," she lilted, "then I'm going to become _annoyed _with you, and I won't even stop to lug you back into the saddle, and I'll be left to venture into the dangerous caravans all by my annoyed self." She paused then added, "Not to mention, you'd probably drag me with you when you fall off, and I'm in no mood to be thrown to the ground again. You and devil-spawn," she motioned toward Hafa, "have already done a beautiful job with ejecting me from the saddle one too many times."

Altair knew that he could probably conjure up a counter or two to combat her words, but she didn't give him any time, as she pulled him forward in the saddle with strength not found in an everyday lady.

Maria looked pleased with her work and was in the process of hoisting herself up in the saddle, but she had another think coming. Altair, with a handsome smirk on his scarred lips, grabbed and pulled her leg up so that she lost her footing. She gasped as her free leg slipped from the stirrup, and she went tumbling to the ground with a graceless _plop. _

Maria squawked and dug her fingers into the ground as she kicked out at him. With his reflexes gaining the upper hand, he was quick to lock his hand around her boot, halting her from any other action. She huffed and tried to free her foot, but he wasn't about to let her have her way.

No, it was far too refreshing for him, what with that glare and pout having her light eyes _blaze _like that. His face, though rugged from a lack of sleep, remained calm beneath his hood as he patted and motioned to the spot behind him in the saddle. Maria clicked an irritable sound with her tongue and grinded her teeth together before yanking her boot from his grasp. Much to her dismay, he didn't go flying out of the saddle.

Typical.

She stood and dusted her bottom off, staring coals and heated irons at the ground. She refused to look at him—she could already _imagine _what stupid, smug expression he was wearing. Maria shook her head and tutted to herself while she clambered onto the saddle. She graced him with another ugly face, daring him to try another smart move. But again, he was far too witty to spoil her with his antics.

With a face reminiscing that of a tomato, she seethed, "You rump-fed, addlepated foot-licker," as she settled in the saddle.

He didn't even bother turning to look at her as he smoothly replied, "I needed to be sure you were awake while I slept."

She almost boiled over, but bit down the urge to clobber him one over the head. After all, his back _was _facing her. The plan was already halfway formulated in her head, but, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he turned his head the slightest degree and gave her another smirk—one that stated he could foretell what underhanded plot she was conspiring against him.

She huffed again, her lips a tight line as she wasted no time in snapping the reins, repeating the action when Hafa whinnied a traitorous chuckle.

"You and the horse," Maria muttered, "you and the bloody, stinky, conniving _horse." _

* * *

Malik groaned as he fought down another wave of nausea. Night was falling, and it'd been hours since they'd tended to the boy. The extent of his injuries was gruesome; more cuts had been found when they turned the boy over on his stomach. It was disgusting to see even _more _punctures in his flesh, as if he was forced to sit on a chair made of tooth-sized spikes.

Malik had and seen his own share of injuries, what with his arm being amputated three years prior, but _never _had he thought that sustaining such wounds was even possible. Damiel was either tortured for information or punished for a wrongdoing, though Malik suspected the former. And Malik knew that even as Assassin's, torture was a necessity when dealing with traitors or captured Templar scouts.

But now, after hearing the nonsense and blubbers that spewed from that poor soul's lips, he was having second thoughts. Could physical pain amount to such mental damage? And what of the information that he was tortured for—did he confess or did he keep his mouth closed? And what did his tormentors even _want _with him?

Malik shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He cringed as more of the boy's sporadic cries rang out from the infirmary. Even in Altair's study, he could still hear them. He screamed for someone to help him, for his sire, and for that dragon-woman.

_Maria._

He screeched and cried her name out as if his life depended on it. It terrified Malik to witness the vulnerability and fragility a person could be diminished to. To think that the boy would put so much faith and trust in one person to save him from his darkest moments was heartbreaking.

It was even more so as Malik thought and _knew _that was what Kadar felt about him. For three years, the one-armed Assassin wondered what thoughts were going through his late brother's mind in his final moments. Was he hoping that Allah would let him in His paradise? For big brother to save him from Death's kiss?

The boy reminded him too much of Kadar. It was too much for the man to handle all in one night, especially when after he, Asiya, and Hildegard finished cleaning and bandaging his torn body, Benjamin had volunteered to watch over the boy for the night.

Sometimes Malik thought that the world was laughing at him. And in a few days' time, Altair and that irksome woman would return, and he'd have to face yet _another _reminder of what happened that day in Solomon's Temple, though he'd forgiven Altair for his naïve arrogance.

Malik slumped in his chair, reclining his head and closing his eyes. He just wanted the day to end. He rubbed his eyes and stared out the grand window. It'd been hours since he'd last seen hide or tail of Hildegard. The woman immediately excused herself after tending to Damiel, whether to contemplate or to distract herself, he didn't know.

And he didn't care—not in his current state of mind.

Rising from his seat, he sighed as he quietly descended the staircases. His stomach growled as he made his way to the master dining quarter of the fortress, but he was in no mood to eat anything. He'd even let the novices scurry off with his kibbeh without a fuss, and that alone told the boys that there was indeed something amiss in Masyaf. And _of course _those three bumbling idiots couldn't keep their mouths closed. The entire town knew of the body dragged in from the Kingdom, and it was only a matter of time before his Brothers would start poking about the fortress in search of answers.

Malik exhaled once more and muttered beneath his breath. He was about to head back and retire for the night, but a peculiar scuffling sound and a dim lighting in the dining quarter caught the Assassin's attention.

He stopped and peered into the room, raising an eyebrow at what he saw. The chairs around the table had been moved, and a sheet was now draped across them and the table, creating a makeshift tent. In the tent was a single candle making out the blurry shape of the person beneath the sheet.

Malik padded over and stopped right before the huddled figure. He bent and lifted the sheet up, not the least bit surprised to see who was under it.

Hildegard, with her legs hugged tightly to her chest, peered up at him with dull interest before turning her attention back to the candle.

Malik blinked. "And is this the latest fashion? Hiding underneath a sheet and sulking in a corner?" Expecting one of her flamboyant responses, he was shocked when all she did was shrug. He sighed then motioned for her to move over before inviting himself in.

Her face had an eerie, blue tint to it, and he could only guess that whatever dinner she had, she saw it again shortly afterward.

He leaned back and crossed his legs. "Or is it the newest style to sulk alone?"

"Hmm," she hummed. She glanced at him then looked back at the candle. She sighed, her breath stirring the flame. There was an extended silence between them before Hildegard sighed again. "You don't think he'll… well, he'll… he'll live, right?"

Malik frowned and a corner of his mouth turned downward. No, he didn't like this solemnity from her at all. "We did everything that we could," he carefully said, mindful of the way she was looking at him as if he knew the future. _Allah, _why was _everyone _looking at him like that as of late?

She swallowed and rested her chin on her knees. "It makes you wonder what he was feeling when it happened to him."

Malik pursed his lips. "Hildegard—"

"—If he was afraid or willing to go through the pain," she mumbled. "He doesn't have anyone, you know. He's never mentioned any family members to me—maybe he did to Maria, but as far as I know, he's alone." She uttered a grave chuckle before continuing, "It's terrifying to know that you live in a world without any kin, isn't it?"

Malik closed his eyes. "The pain fades over time, but it'll always be there." He turned to look at her. "And you? Have you any family back in Europe?"

"My parents died when I was just a girl—"

"I'm sorry—"

She dismissed his condolences with a horizontal bob of her head. "I have a sister, though, and a—" She interrupted herself, then hissed out, "A brother." Before he could ask, she added, "I'm an aunt, too, and a sister in-law. I suppose I do have family, even if I'm not exactly close-knitted with them."

"A family is still a family," Malik murmured.

"What's it like? Being alone?"

He grunted. "Lonesome."

"I thought it would be," she sighed.

"It's… saddening, if you let yourself think about it for too long. At first, you need to mourn in peace and quiet. You keep pondering over the 'what if's and if you should have done something different. Then, you grow disgusted with yourself for shedding so many tears and being in such a mute state. You start to look for an escape and try to find comfort in company. Eventually, your loss is pushed to the very recesses of your mind.

"But the smallest reminder breaks through your shield like a spear through wet clay, and you find yourself reeling and being smothered by something you could not control. It finds your weakest point, and then does a magnificent job with twisting and ripping the wound further open. It never stops, even if you convince yourself that all the reminders _aren't _reminders at all."

Malik inhaled a quick breath when he felt her fingers clutch his left sleeve.

"But your reminder is always with you, isn't it?"

He turned his head to stare at the space where an arm should have been. He nodded. "Yes," he whispered. He could see her giving him a sympathetic look from the corner of his eye.

"I tried to rid myself of my reminders," Hildegard said in a soft voice. "I even changed my name," she sadly smiled.

"A person can't change just by altering their title."

She nodded, whispering, "I know, and I've learned that the hard way." She turned her head to him, and different shades of brown locked together. The gaze broke away to look above them as the sheet was pulled back with a swift tug.

A larger man stood staring down at them; a glare was sent to Malik, a soft look gifted to Hildegard, and a furious glance given to her hand on his sleeve.

"The others are looking for you," Aden addressed Hildegard. He offered his hand to her. He resembled a kicked pup when she stood and ignored the gesture. "You can continue your conversation with the cripple at a more convenient time."

Hildegard stepped over Malik and gave the Assassin an apologetic smile before following Aden out of the dining quarter. She didn't see the amused, knowing smirk Malik wore.

"I would appreciate it, Master Aden, if you did not refer to my friends in such a way," she hissed as they made their way through Masyaf's hallways.

"And I would appreciate it if you put more trust in my judgment, Lady Hildegard."

"_Judgment," _she spat. "And what do _you _know about judgment?"

His glare turned her blood ice cold. "I could ask you the same, Miss Dove."

* * *

Altair bounced up and down in the saddle, his head lolling to either side of his neck. Maria rested her chin on his shoulder. She was proud that she'd found the rockiest, bumpiest path for Hafa to take, but was disappointed that the man in front of her didn't even bat an eyelash from the sudden jerking and bouncing.

Maria dug her heels into Hafa's side and urged the horse to veer to the left. They were close now, and she wanted no mistakes. Even the horse could feel it. Hafa eagerly leapt over a jutting rock and trotted up a slope. If Maria remembered correctly, there were two cliffs leading to the gates of Damascus, and only one of them was navigable by horse, even if it was risky.

The other cliff, well. She'd rather not think about the hooves Hafa would lose trying to trample her way up just to please her riders.

The first sign was the smell. Maria sniffed the air and smelled a mixture of different spices and herbs. Not just that, but someone had dinner being prepared, and though she was all game when it came to thwarting Templar's, perhaps the caravan wasn't _all _they should loot.

If Hafa's snapping of the twigs and snorting every few seconds didn't alert anyone of their presence, then it'd be Maria's stomach complaining about a lack of food in her system.

The woman sighed and squeezed Altair's shoulder. She didn't expect his right hand to grab her shoulder and pull her so that she was leaning in front of him, and she certainly didn't expect his hidden blade to be pressed against her throat. She gasped, but her surprise quickly transformed into annoyance.

Muttering under her breath from his reflex, she hissed, "Save it for the caravan, won't you?"

He blinked, apparently realizing what he'd just done, and released her. She sat back down in the saddle and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Altair took one whiff of the air then nodded his head in confirmation. Not only did Maria grumble when he took the reins from her, but so did her stomach.

"It's lahmajoun," he explained. "They're cooking lahmajoun."

Maria, not caring about what the food was called but very engrossed with the fact that it was edible and that Altair knew what it was, nodded her head in mock interest. "Yes, well, raid caravan first, eat later."

"We have some dates and bread left—"

"Oh, dear Heavens, no, Altair," Maria tutted. "Dates and bread? Not with _this _delicious smell." She emphasized her point by inhaling and letting out a contented 'ahh'.

"We don't know where it's been, Maria, and wouldn't it be petty if you were to drop dead after slaying Templar's?"

She glared and was ready to chomp his ear off, but he quieted her with a wave of his hand. They were on top of the cliff and had a perfect vantage point of their surroundings. Disembarking Hafa, they crawled on their bellies to the edge of the cliff. Just below them were the caravans, carts and wagons full of savory spices. The caravans formed a semicircle around the group of men gathered by a fire.

Their speech wasn't coherent from where Altair and Maria were, but Maria could smell their food quite accurately. She stuttered another complaint from the corner of her mouth before looking over at the man beside her.

"Are we going to wait until they're asleep?" she prompted.

He nodded, crossed his arms then rested his head on his wrists. "Yes; we wait." Maria blew a disappointed sigh out before following suit and using her arms as a pillow.

It was a solid plan, if not humdrum, but she thought it was reasonable. When these oafs finally sated their hunger and collapsed in their tents, Altair would use his stealthy Assassin abilities and search through their cargo. And Maria—

And Maria, preferring to do things the old fashioned, honest way by fighting with pride, would be left on the cliff.

Just as this thought processed in her brain her stomach let off another whine. '_Oh, I don't bloody think so.'_

Maria shimmied backward and sat on her knees. Altair shook his head and narrowed his eyes. Maria huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you think I'm going to sit here for an hour or two _smelling _that and then wait for your arse to finish poking about their goods, you're mistaken."

"You'll survive, Mar—"

"But luckily for you," she purred, "I have a _better _plan." She was already crawling back down the cliff when Altair reached over to her and grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him.

"Maria," he growled in warning, "if you go down there—"

"If a woman, seemingly so innocent in appearance and speech, ventures into the camp of men—who have probably not seen a woman for how long, now?—and uses her charm and allure, who's to say they'll even notice the Assassin searching through their belongings, hm?" She tilted her chin in triumph when he was rendered silent for a moment.

His grip on her arm tightened. "There's no telling what they'll do—"

"Oh, _please—"_

"They could take advantage of y—"

She snatched his chin in her hand and pulled his face close to hers. "And were you not the one who said," she moved his mouth accordingly, "'_I'm completely confident in our abilities to handle them'?_"

He blinked, stunned that she'd beaten him by his own tactics. One by one, his fingers uncoiled from her arm in defeat. She smiled and scrunched his cheeks together so that his lips jutted out.

Maybe he _was _one to pucker, after all.

He followed closely behind her as she crawled her way to the caravans.

* * *

Maria had full faith in her ability to play the part of the damsel in distress. That is, she _had _that confidence until she actually walked into the circle of men, smelling like the hindquarters of a mule. She gulped and tried to relax her shoulders into a feminine slant.

It was positively the most pride-tearing moment of her life. In Cyprus, she'd disguised herself as a consort, showing off more flesh than she'd prefer, but there hadn't been nearly as many eyes on her now. Even though she was fully clothed and capable (she'd taken the opportunity to check her boots and bindings for her emergency knives), she felt horribly exposed.

She wished she'd brought along her sword, but that was highly unladylike. She should have paid more attention to her mother's lessons in being a proper woman.

She approached the group of men with her head bent in an incline, peering at them through her lashes. They stood from their places and prowled over to her. She felt every particle of her body buzz in warning from their cautious postures. She was a sheep amongst wolves—only, she was a sheep with two good and dangerous weapons in her breast bindings.

And she intended to use them if need be.

Most of the guards stationed at the wagons came over to inspect her as well, leaving only a few of them for Altair to handle. The side of her face tingled, and she knew that Altair was keeping a close eye on her as he used the shadows to his advantage.

"_Emra'a," _they confirmed once they were close enough to make her out in the dim lighting.

Maria bowed her head and cleared her throat. "_Hal tatakallamu alogah alenjleziah?"_

They chuckled and glanced to one another. This time, Maria wished they didn't wear turbans, as she wanted to know just what these ill-intenders were thinking. "_Na'am," _one of them replied. He had the sleeves of his robes rolled to his elbows, revealing two hairy, thick arms. She glanced at his side, eying the sword strapped to his waist.

"Then would one of you fine gentlemen," she internally gagged, "be so kind as to point the way to Damascus?"

Another one, with his headscarf pulled down to reveal his face, rubbed his chin and gave her a dubious smirk. "Damascus? This late in the night?"

Maria nodded. "My horse ran off just an hour ago, and I'm in desperate need of shelter." It sounded like something Hafa would do, and she could only imagine the irked snort the mare would give if she was with her now. She batted her eyelashes at the man, hoping to coax him into believing her.

They circled around her, inspecting every part of her as if she was livestock for sale. "Shelter?" one of them murmured. "That could easily be arranged—for a price, of course." It didn't take an interpreter for a person to know what the man was implying, and Maria wasn't pleased in the least bit.

"I believe I can sum up enough money for you all," Maria blandly said in a dismissive tone. They didn't take it dismissively, though.

"Money? But surely a woman so _jameela _has more to offer than that?" They shared a knowing chuckle, as if Maria, since she was a woman, had no common sense whatsoever.

She glared at one of them as they ran their fingers through her hair. For a moment, she cursed Altair for tending to it and wished it was still a messy nest. She tensed and swiveled when a hand brushed against her shoulder. She smacked the hand away when it ventured too close to her bosom. The men laughed and threw their heads back in arrogant bliss.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maria could see Altair sorting through each of the carts, but she didn't dare glance his way. She instinctively took a step back when two pairs of hands reached out for her arms. She snarled at the men and hit their questing digits away from her person.

Altair's head snapped up from the wagon he was searching when a shriek filled the air. He ran and leapt over the dead guards' bodies and, without breaking stride, released a throwing knife. The man restraining Maria's arms cried out as the blade sank into his spine. He fell to the dirt in a bloody heap.

Maria withdrew the knife from her boot as Altair pounced on another man and embedded his hidden blade in his throat. Maria made her knife's new home in the side of another's neck. He gurgled and choked on his own blood as he collapsed. She tugged the knife free from his flesh and made to break free of the circle formed around her, but was halted in her progress.

She screamed as her hair was roughly pulled. She lunged behind her with the knife, but was brought to the ground with another swift yank. Dark splotches and stars danced across her vision, and she struggled to see the raised foot coming down on her face. Her mind was yelling at her to move, to roll out of the way, but her body wouldn't budge. She braced herself for the inevitable _crunch._

Instead of hearing her skull snap and crumble, she heard a gasp, a grunt, and then a thud. She blinked and turned her head to the side, coming face to face with lifeless eyes.

More thuds sounded around her, each followed by the _shink! _of the hidden blade. It was only a minute before everything went quiet.

She could just make out the blurry figure crouched beside her. She blinked and stared straight into the sky, unconsciously noting that the sun was almost gone from the world. She groaned and closed her eyes when her head began to pound with strength she wished she had while being attacked.

"_Ma…ia? Are… alr… answ… e…" _His voice faded in and out of her ringing ears. She moaned and reached up with a hand. She patted his face with her fingertips, stopping her blind fumbling about when her fingers brushed against something wide and curved.

"Big nose," she mumbled. She heard him sigh then felt him try to scoop her up in his arms. She hissed and shooed his arms off her. "Give me a minute—go finish searching the bloody caravans." Maria didn't hear him rise to his feet or his fading footfalls, but instead heard him shift and shuffle about. Opening one eye, she managed to swallow a gasp as he hovered over her.

He straddled her hips and leaned his forehead against hers. His hands were already on either side of her face, his fingers on her temples and behind her neck.

'_Don't open your eyes, otherwise it doesn't work.'_

All she could see were the backs of her eyelids, but all she could hear was their breathing. He smelled like spices—specifically paprika and mint. She tried to focus on his scent rather than on the aching at the back of her head. _God, _she could already feel the bruises begin to form—curse that bastard for ripping her hair like that!

A low whistle caught her attention, and she heard the _clip-clop _of Hafa's hooves. Then, she felt the mare's unmistakable muzzle as it nipped her scalp. Maria smiled despite herself and opened her eyes to see Altair's penetrating gaze. A jolt of fear shot through her body. There was no denying the emotions shining in his eyes. She felt as if she was bare before him—that they were completely and utterly exposed to one another.

She'd only ever seen him look at her like that once before.

And there was no escape for her; he was free to scour each thought flickering in her soul. She saw curiosity, understanding, and then another sentiment that she knew was the most precious thing to him.

And it was also something that she'd be damned to admit to herself.

But luckily, she didn't have to, as Hafa snorted and blew at Altair from a lack of attention. The Assassin lifted his head and gave Hafa a reprimanding glower. The mare grumbled and stamped a hoof on the ground. Altair stood and offered a hand for Maria, and then helped her to her feet.

She grimaced as the roots of her hair tingled. She wobbled for a moment, but steadied herself by grabbing hold of Hafa. The horse nickered and lowered her head for the woman.

"Did you find anything?" Maria grunted once she was sure the mare wouldn't pull any fast moves.

Altair stared at Maria until she locked eyes with him. He wore that vulnerable expression for a few fleeting seconds before it disappeared altogether. "Yes," he answered. She bit her lip as she and Hafa followed him to the carts.

Maria spared a glance at the fire, sighing when she realized that the food the men had prepared was burnt. She'd be having dates and bread for dinner.

"The other teams that we sent here," Altair started as he began rummaging about a wagon, "reported not finding anything of suspicion."

"Were they not thorough enough?"

He nodded. "It seems so." He emptied out the bags and containers of spices on the ground, not caring if they spilled open. Maria watched as the wagon's contents diminished, revealing a small, hidden compartment in the bottom. Altair opened the hatch.

Inside was a stack of letters, as well as a pendant. Maria snatched the necklace and held it up to her face.

"Templar lackeys," she muttered, showing him the symbol. He was too busy going through the papers and only nodded in response. Woman and horse both looked over his shoulder at what intrigued him so.

Altair swiftly pocketed the letters and turned toward Maria. She shrieked and squawked at the man when he suddenly lifted her up and plopped her on Hafa's saddle. The horse wasn't thrilled either as she nibbled on her bit. No sooner was Altair in front of Maria, hands at the reins and snapping them against Hafa's neck.

Maria barely had enough time to cling to him for dear life as Hafa bolted. The woman cursed and held onto him as tightly as she could.

"For the love of my head and hair," she snarled into his ear, "would you _slow _the damn horse—"

He squeezed her hand in a death-grip around his waist. "We cannot falter in pace, Maria; Masyaf is in danger."

"_What? _What do you mean 'in danger'?"

"_Mashhur_," he bit out.

* * *

Malik paced back in forth in Masyaf's foyer, sighing every few minutes. Altair and Maria were to return that day and report their findings—if any—at the caravans. The one-armed Assassin paused and flipped through the pages of the worn, tattered book in his hand.

It was Altair's writings, he mused, describing his thoughts and experiences with the Apple. They were interesting thoughts, enough to distract a man from reality's painful bite. He bit the inside of his cheek as he examined small scraps of paper stitched to the binding.

A page had been ripped out, but by Altair or the boy, he didn't know.

Malik shrugged and blinked when the echoing of footsteps reached his ears. He looked up just in time to see the Master storm into the fortress.

* * *

Maria's arms creaked and groaned when she unraveled them from Altair's waist. He'd been riding like a madman for two days, not even bothering himself for a blink of sleep, and Maria didn't dare to sleep, either. She didn't want to cause him trouble if she tumbled off the saddle, and she especially didn't want to interrupt his breakneck speed by asking to be in front.

She just sat quietly in the saddle, for once not having her say in the matter at hand, and occasionally gave his hand reassuring squeezes.

He pulled Hafa to a screeching halt at Masyaf's stables. Maria sighed in relief and was too tired to utter a complaint when he leapt off the saddle and started at a brisk walk—

'_Why's the oaf walking?' _She rolled her eyes and slowly lowered herself from the saddle. '_First he wants to break Hafa's legs with an impossible speed, now he wants to strut his weight around? Ridiculous man.' _

Maria was greeted by three familiar faces. She inclined her head in greeting to the novices as they unstrapped the saddlebags from Hafa. Maria swore she heard the mare sigh, and no sooner was the horse being led to a water trough that Maria herself was ushered to the fortress.

"You must be exhausted," Mustafa commented as he watched her slowly trudge her way up Masyaf's slopes.

She made a sound from the back of her throat and continued her pitiful hobble. "And now that man's having me walk up a bloody mountain," she grunted to herself. Mustafa offered her his arm, but she shook her head. What she needed was someone to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way.

With a lack of the right words to say to comfort her, Mustafa resorted to his usual responses: he chuckled. He saw the ghost of a smile touch her lips.

When Maria finally made it up to the fortress with an ever-faithful Mustafa staying by her side, she felt like some ninety-year old woman in need of a cane. Or even two canes. She successfully made it through the courtyard with every novice stopping their training to gawk at the woman who looked like she'd just rolled through the dirt, been through a sandstorm, just ran miles without stopping, and then decided to roll in some more dirt.

The first things Maria saw were Altair and Malik speaking in hushed tones at the base of the stairs that led to the study. The next were two furry faces. She smiled as Bayo and Belle came bounding toward her. She raised her hand, and they immediately sat at her feet. She pet and scratched them behind their ears, finding those few places that made their feet thump.

The two hounds sat quietly as Maria accepted the cup of water Mustafa handed her.

"Altair, there have been some occurrences while you were dispatched," Malik began, glancing at Maria.

Altair shook his head. "Malik, there's much that I need to tell you and even more action that we must—"

"It requires her full attention," Malik interrupted. Altair arched an eyebrow at this. Malik sighed and cleared his throat. Maria turned her head in his direction, but then her eyes flicked down toward what was in his hand. Almost at the same time, Altair noticed the book, as well.

"That's…" Altair's eyes widened in surprise from what he was seeing. Malik swallowed and could only watch as recognition, then confusion, and then finally, horror, flashed across Maria's face. Her jaw fell slack and she stared Malik down for an answer.

Again, it was that same look, as if he had all the answers and knew just what to do. Malik felt his stomach twist in a knot. Her cup of water slipped through her fingers and shattered on the floor, startling the two dogs. "He's in the infirmary—_go," _Malik strained. He averted his gaze as the woman, forgetting her fatigue and pain, belted out of the foyer, followed by Mustafa.

Altair made to stop her, but Malik shook his head. "Leave her be, Altair. She'll need your comfort later." Malik motioned to the stairwell, and both men made their way to the study.

"Malik, what—"

"Do you remember the boy Hildegard told us about at dinner that one time? The one who was brought into slavery?"

Altair frowned, then said, "Yes, I recall that—"

"Well," Malik sighed as he set the book on Altair's desk, "it appears that a scout team found _this," _he gestured toward the book, "on his person in the Kingdom. No, I don't know what he was doing out there or why he even had it to begin with, but…"

Altair placed a hand on his good shoulder.

Malik swiveled his head back and forth and set his mouth in a firm line. "He's in horrible condition, Altair—the worst I've ever seen."

"And Maria—"

"Is probably witnessing the damage as we speak." Malik sat down in a chair and rubbed his forehead. He looked worse than Altair did.

The Master of Assassin's wanted to leave that study far behind and be at her side. He wanted to leap to his feet and warn her before she saw the boy-do _anything _that would help with the pain she'd experience. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the soft groans come from the man in front of him. Altair sat beside him and squeezed Malik's arm, pushing thoughts of Maria aside for the moment. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here when it happened, Brother."

Malik scoffed and shook his head. "I'm not the one who will be needing the apologies and kind words, you idiot."

"And I'm afraid she's going to have to wait a while longer until I can be of assistance." He pulled out the letters found at the caravan from the pouches strapped to his waistband and set them on the desk. Malik picked his head up, leaned over, and browsed through them.

"We've been betrayed, Malik," Altair said loud enough for only them to hear.

Malik scoffed and furrowed his brow, not liking the fact that the week just became even more dreadful than it already was. "And by a novice," he muttered as he leafed through the pages. "Interesting. Interesting, but pitiful." An ominous, eerie grin slowly stretched across the former Rafik's face. "There's some good news in this, I believe, however unimpressive it may be. That's one less pair of grubby fingers stealing my kibbeh."

The two Assassin's took strange comfort in the sad, cold chuckle they shared.

* * *

**Translations:**

Spanish:

_Padre, haz que termine, haz que todo se detenga. = _Father, make it end, make it all stop.

_Llevate lejos el dolor—duele, Padre!_ = Take the pain away—it hurts, Father!

_Dios mio, haz que se detenga! Sus manos, me lastiman! Cúbreme ya con el beso de la muerta, Padre! _= Dear God, make it stop! His hands, they hurt! Blanket me with the kiss of death already, Father!

… _duele, Padre… Oh, Padre, duele demasiado. _= … it hurts, Father… Oh, Father, it hurts so much.

_enroscándose_ _y azuzando = _twisting and prodding

_Mi sangre. _= My blood.

_necesito más dolor. Necesito muerte. _= need more pain. Need death.

_Ella está a salvo. = _She is safe.

_Estoy muerto, sí? = _I am dead, yes?

_Lindo = _pretty

_Los dientes del demonio muerden mi carne. = _The Devil's teeth bite at my flesh.

_Diferentes caminos _= different paths

_Padre, por qué tus garras no lo terminan todo? = _Father, why won't your talons end it all?

Food:

Lahmajoun: a Middle-Eastern food, very similar to pizza, but also quite different and much healthier (it's full of spices, which is why I found it fitting for the caravans)

Arabic:

_Emra'a = _woman

_Hal tatakallamu alogah alenjleziah? = _Do you speak English?

_Na'am = _Yes

_Jameela = _beautiful

**...I've come to realize that any Hildegard/Malik scene is very easy to write. And also makes me cry.**


	28. Chapter 22

**Guess who's back? :D ME! -cough- because Assassin Aisha kicked my butt back into gear -cough- ANYWAY. Sorry for the delay for this chapter. Writer's block, life, problems, Dorito Crash Course still owning me... T_T I WILL BEAT YOU, JAPAN! **

**Hem. Eheh. Please enjoy this chapter! And hey, you people like my writing? Well guess what? I happen to be the editor of a fabulous writer. Perhaps you know of her? Heard her name while passing through a hall of celebrities? Eavesdropped on the discussions of her latest magazine articles? No? WELL. I strongly urge all of you to check out Fate Likes Fools' stories, The Confidant, The Confessor, and her newly published story, Talons of a King. She's one of the few authors in the Assassin's Creed fanfiction world that I stalk with a complete set of shades and trench coat.**

**All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.**

* * *

It rocked through her body, rising and falling like the tides of the ocean. Swelling up, then dying back down in a promising, potential bubbling. A swallow to hold it down, but only resulting in more pressure pushing _up. _Another attempt to keep it from spilling over, to no avail. Each gulp to keep it down only brought forward another violent heave—wanting and _needing _to escape that fleshy prison.

And then it came out.

Maria clutched the table with a white-knuckled grip and doubled over the bowl. She spat and hurled into the bowl, not caring that it'd be forever ruined. Long strands of bile hung from her mouth before joining the rest of the vomit. She closed her eyes as another wave of nausea wracked her body, and soon, she was hacking more of her stomach's contents into the bowl.

A cry escaped from the back of her throat, and she wiped her forehead, now beaded with sweat. It sounded pathetic and pitiful to her ears. Her stomach still flopping around and threatening to empty itself again, she bit her lip and sank to the floor, not caring that she almost tipped the bowl off the table.

She hugged her legs to her chest and groaned into her knees. Saliva still trickled from the corner of her mouth, and before she even had the time to think of finding a new bowl, her clothes were soiled with her puke. Some sadistic, humorous part of her mind mused over the fact that she should be grateful that Altair hadn't allowed her any time to eat on their ride back to Masyaf.

But that part of her mind was only a whisper amongst the raging screams and wails of her more sensitive thoughts.

Her nails dug into her calves as she shook once more. She didn't care that she smelled like a homeless urchin or that more of that foul liquid was still spewing from her lips. She crossed her ankles and dug the heel of one of her boots into the toe of the other. The pain wasn't enough to distract her from what she saw as she threw open the doors to the infirmary just minutes ago.

A body, so frail and devoid of energy, lied limp in the small cot, its breathing so shallow that for a moment she thought him to be dead. Bandages, dotted and streaked with blood, wound around his fragile frame, almost covering him completely. Hair so overgrown and matted with God knew what trailed down to his shoulders, accentuating how hollow his cheeks were and how white his normally olive skin was.

Maria's shoulders heaved as she tried to muffle her cries in her knees. The soggy fabric of her trousers didn't comfort her in any way; if anything, they added just a bit more sorrow to her delicate state, even though it was her own fault that they were wet.

_Her _fault…

Her eyes screwed shut. It was _all _her fault…

From out of the depths of her bleary mind, she could hear the soft echoing of footsteps against the stone floor becoming louder and more urgent as they neared her. A hand fell on her shoulder and another tilted her chin up. She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to focus on the man kneeling in front of her. Splotches and blurred colors swam in front of her; it seemed as if she was floating in and out of the room. With everything seeming so far away and a headache promising to make itself known, she did what anyone in her situation would have done: she closed her eyes.

And then slumped forward into the warm embrace of the retired soldier in front of her.

* * *

Summoned from the post, Mashhur stood in front of the Master's desk, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited to be addressed.

_Why _he even _bothered _to be polite, he didn't know. He didn't appreciate the sudden summoning from his station at the post, and he _certainly _didn't appreciate it when his so-called colleagues merely shrugged and smiled like the fools they were when he complained about the reason for the disturbance.

_Stock supplies._

Apparently, the other Assassin's at the post were far too busy with their own pressing matters to take a quick inventory on their supplies and report to the Master with anything they require. Thus, Mashhur was the lucky soul who had to bake underneath the glaring sun—even with his hood on, he still felt the beads of sweat dripping down his neck—travel up the ridiculous mountain known as Masyaf, and bore himself to invisible tears while he waited to be acknowledged. Were he with Tagvoryan and the Templar's in Armenia, he knew he'd be sipping the sweetest of wine from a gold-rimmed goblet with women wearing arousing silks draped across his lap.

But no, he was stuck in this prison.

And on top of that, he stubbed his toe on a book that was conveniently discarded by some brain-dead Assassin in the foyer's library. The pulsing in his big toe was mind-boggling, and he had to hold down the urge to rub the bruised flesh.

Not that any of these men would care about a stubbed toe.

Swallowing back another gulp of boredom, Mashhur watched as the Master and Malik sat at the study, picking at a bowl of falafel between them as they went over several letters and documents. The day had been uneventful as usual for the novice, what with the Master's calm, casual, and not to mention fruitless return from the caravan, and now the sight of these two goons bobbing their heads up and down in agreement, murmuring to each other and gesturing to the papers, was reason enough to jump off the cliffs of Masyaf just to end the prolonged torture.

He shuffled his feet for a lack of something better to do and glanced around him. The study was more crowded than usual, though he couldn't say he knew the average population in the Master's office. Assassin's were leafing through books and poking around the shelves, no doubt mesmerized by the texts. Mashhur rolled his eyes. These people were downright absurd! How many times would they have to reread those pointless books before they actually _remembered _what the pages meant? It disgusted Mashhur almost as much as Mustafa's chuckling repulsed him.

Said chuckling was heard from down in the foyer, though it didn't hold its usual jolly tone. Rather, it sounded _distraught. _Mashhur was pleased to know this and was even more delighted when that irritable sound died down. Rushed footsteps were heard in the foyer, and then they too trailed off.

Mashhur felt his patience running thin and was afraid that at any moment, he'd snap and tell each of these fools what they should do with themselves. From just one look at the boy, anyone could tell that his temper was close to flaring and that he was nowhere near comfortable, what with his pursed lips, expectant eyebrows, and creased brow. Finally, as if the Master was waiting for the last possible moment to acknowledge him, he motioned him forward.

"Apologies, Mashhur, for making you wait," Altair said. "Malik and I were discussing certain issues." He stacked the papers and handed them to Malik just when Mashhur's eyes wandered over them. The novice inclined his head, not seeing the look Malik shot him.

"I am sure your duties as Grandmaster keep you very busy, Master," Mashhur murmured. He straightened his head and waited for the other man to speak. He seemed to be calculating something, though with his eyes not visible beneath his hood, Mashhur couldn't know what.

Not that he cared.

Altair nodded in agreement and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment. "Indeed. It most certainly is an occupying position, Mashhur. I'm responsible for Masyaf's welfare, the training of my Brothers, and also the Brotherhood's protection." The novice blinked, but before he could reply, Altair pushed the parchment toward him on the desk and offered a quill.

"Now, then," the Master of Assassin's prompted, "as you know, Masyaf's inventory is running low on several items, and since the post is a good mile or two outside of Masyaf, you and the others do not exactly receive the same supplies as the fortress does."

Mashhur restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "We require more tea leaves, incense, and since Nibras isn't aware of the fact that he has a brain, we need two new hookahs."

Altair glanced at Malik. The one-armed man was busy eating a falafel to return the favor. He held out the quill for Mashhur again. "Write the requirements down, Mashhur. As you said, I'm kept very busy, and I'm likely to forget." He watched as Mashhur accepted the quill and hunched over the desk as he scribbled on the parchment.

How much the novice wanted to add to the Master's comment! A snide grin twisted on his lips as the quill ran across the paper. When he was done, Altair took the paper and examined it, as if he'd already forgotten. Mashhur exhaled and bit the inside of his cheek, impatiently waiting to be dismissed.

Altair looked back and forth between Mashhur's list and the other papers on his desk. Craning his neck, Mashhur tried to see what the Master was comparing without seeming too suspicious.

But he should have known better.

Malik closed his eyes and sighed, a small groan coming from his throat. Altair calmly set the papers down and looked Mashhur right in the eye. He tilted his head just enough so that his eyes could be seen beneath his hood.

The novice froze as the man stared death into him. Only his eyes betrayed his anger; his hazel were cold and gleaming with a raging fury, the rest of his face was calm.

Mashhur's palms became slick with sweat, and it had nothing to do with the heat. It was as if this man was searching through his life, trying to find something—a _proof—_to slay him with.

And he found exactly what he was looking for. The handwriting was the biggest lie ever told: the truth.

Mashhur took two involuntary steps backward, his entire frame trembling as the Master held up the papers that should have been delivered to Damascus weeks ago.

The traitor didn't even have time to shout before those foolish Assassin's rummaging through the library were upon him.

* * *

"There," Benjamin sighed, "that should make her more comfortable." He tucked the blankets around Maria. With Hildegard's help, they stripped her of her ruined garments and dressed her in something more relaxing: the blue dress Asiya had bullied her into wearing for dinner weeks ago.

Hildegard nodded and brushed a stray strand of hair from Maria's forehead. "We should have warned her, Benjamin." Glancing at the cot across from Maria's, Hildegard frowned and sat on the edge of Maria's bed. "What a way to be welcomed back from a mission," Hildegard mused. "Seeing the person whose current mauled state is your fault."

Benjamin followed Hildegard's gaze and crossed his arms. Damiel still had a sickly tint to his face, being the only skin visible. The boy still had the occasional bouts of whimpering and crying, though Benjamin wasn't surprised at all. He could only imagine what horrors were tearing at him in his nightmares, and he didn't even _want _to imagine, as selfish as it was. The veteran shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on Hildegard's shoulder.

"Now, there's no need to add to the sorrow, Hildegard. Our situation is already quite depressing, and we don't need any more horrifying thoughts and accusations." He squeezed her shoulder and sat beside her, letting her lean against him. "He's a strong boy, Hildegard. He'll pull through," he murmured into her hair, more as reassurance for himself. "He'll pull through."

Taking her hand, the veteran led her out of the infirmary. Even though he and Hildegard were the ones closest to Damiel and Maria, the rest of the Rose deserved comfort just as well. Benjamin sighed as he thought of how many times Zaina must have fainted.

Mustafa watched as they left while shifting in his chair and sitting in pretzel-style. He peered over at Maria, chuckling as she made small sounds in her sleep. It was a good thing he'd gone and fetched Benjamin when the first signs of her tantrum happened; he surely didn't want to have cleaned up all that puke and spittle.

The novice scooted his chair closer to the other bed. He looked the frail life over. Shrugging, Mustafa folded his hands on his lap and scrutinized him up and down. He was about his age, maybe a year or two his junior. The novice had just reached twenty summers in January, and spring was nearing its end.

He poked Damiel in the cheek; there was no response from the boy. Frowning, Mustafa pulled the sheets down enough to expose an arm. He witnessed the atrocious condition he'd been in when the scout team scraped him from the Kingdom, and he'd been horrified and even put to shame to see the pus and scabs forming over the many cuts and gashes on this stranger's body.

He knew that he'd never be able to withhold such injuries and still be breathing.

But now, as he discovered that every part of Damiel's body—including fingers, toes, and yes, that area of flesh sacred to every man—was wrapped in bandages, save for his head, he had new feelings to consider.

He looked like a mummy.

Mustafa covered his mouth and held back a chuckle. To make it even worse, with Damiel's hair so overgrown, he looked _feminine. _He was a _girly _mummy. He should have felt guilt for his joyful discovery, but then he considered what Benjamin had just said minutes ago. There was no need for him to darken the atmosphere further.

This time, he didn't repress his chuckle. He decided right then and there that he'd like to meet this boy—properly. Mustafa rationalized that he was an interesting fellow and that there was nothing for him to lose by introducing himself.

Only time would tell, though.

Readjusting the blankets, he stood from the chair. Offering another shrug, he scuttled out of the infirmary, his business done.

No doubt the kibbeh would be easier to steal since Malik was not in his right spirits.

* * *

"We offered you a life—"

"—and purpose—"

"—and family—"

"—And the chance to leave an Assassin's mark on this world," Altair finished with a grave underlying tone in his voice. He stared Mashhur down with a faint dark line along his brow, watching how the boy's face continued to drain of color as he was forced against the wall by guards. Screams and cries of desperation had filled the entire fortress as the traitor was dragged down into Masyaf's merciless belly.

The cries only made Malik even more aware of how weary he was. He stood on Altair's left with several other high ranking Brothers on his right. The Master waited until Mashhur was chained to the wall.

He writhed and tried to free himself of the arms holding him, but they were too strong for his flimsy muscles. Even with his hands cuffed to the wall, he still struggled, not caring that the harsh metal dug into his wrists.

"And you repay us by treachery." Altair stared at the letters in his hand, disgusted by what they said. "Not only do you threaten every person in Masyaf—Assassin or civilian—but _this," _his eyes darkened with vehemence as he clutched the papers tighter, almost tearing them in half, "adds insult to injury."

He took a step closer to Mashhur, his anger only intensifying as he saw the boy cower and try to become one with the wall. "I will let it be known," he quietly growled, "that we will not hesitate to inflict pain upon you if you fail to answer our questions. Your cries for mercy will be ignored, your pleas for freedom neglected, and your reasons for your betrayal disregarded."

Mashhur swallowed and balled his hands into fists. The Eagle of Masyaf stared down at him, his imposing frame making him seem insignificant. Mashhur could feel the bitter taste of resentment on his tongue, and before he could think otherwise, he snarled, "My screams would only mimic the sounds that bitch made on Acre's tower while you contented yourself with a cheap _sharmuta."_

He expected to be beaten for his words—to have his hands chopped off, his lips whipped—but the only reaction Altair made was to flare his nostrils and narrow his eyes. Mashhur wouldn't have the satisfaction of digging beneath his skin. "Why, do you take offense at what the papers say about you and your little _whore?" _he pressed. "Or does it _excite _you that she's even mentioned?"

In the blink of the eye, Altair had closed the distance between them and had his hand at Mashhur's throat, constricting his body of air. He dug his thumb in the flesh just below where his jaw and neck met. The boy gurgled, gasped, and flailed his legs as the pain intensified. "The only thing that _excites _me, Mashhur," he hissed into the boy's ear, "is that this traitor," Mashhur thought the bones in his neck would snap, "will be dealt with accordingly and answer all of our questions."

Altair jerked his arm forward, bopping the back of Mahhur's head against the wall, before unlatching his hand from his throat. Mashhur gagged and clenched his teeth together, too preoccupied with breathing to even shout. He slumped against the chains as stars danced across his vision, and he blinked his eyes to rid them. His head was lifted up by another strong jerk of Altair's arm, and he came face to face with him again.

Mashhur wanted to scream just by seeing the desire to _hurt _and _kill _in the man's eyes. It was a look he'd never seen before from any of the Assassin's in the fortress, and he whimpered as a warm liquid ran down his legs.

The urine didn't even have Altair's nose turn up. It seemed as if the man expected this from the beginning, which terrified Mashhur. It was as if this killer had already studied him and knew his next choice of action even before his own body did. More helpless sounds spewed from his blubbering mouth as his body shook from the fact that he couldn't even rely on his own person.

He was _his. _His body belonged to _him. _He controlled his own thoughts, actions—_no one _could take that away from him. He knew that by instinct, but the way the Assassin stared him down had him question himself. There wasn't any hint of humanity behind his craven, steel gaze.

No, the Master of the Hashshashin was anything but human.

He was a monster, a demon, a fiend, a devil. All in one.

And Mashhur would learn just how merciless this creature of _Shêtân _was.

* * *

It hadn't gone as Altair anticipated it would, but yet it did. For one, Mashhur's screams echoed off of the dungeon walls, and the boy was very reluctant to tell them anything about the letters.

_Too _reluctant to the point where absolutely _nothing _was learned. The boy was six fingernails short. The only things gained were weariness, frustration, and those awful croaks from the boy.

And to top it all off, there was Malik's sickening intervention, though he could hardly be blamed.

Altair quietly fumed in his study, his elbows resting on the table and his hands folded under his chin. He sat in deep contemplation, his face twitching every so often to reflect his thoughts. The anger bubbling in his chest from those words on those damned letters coiled and twisted in his body. How _dare _that sniveling, conniving, weakling _boy _refer to _his _Maria like that! He'd rather have the boy be six _fingers _short.

The insults directed toward himself meant very little. He wasn't concerned with what that traitor thought him to be; Mashhur's time in the dungeons would change every judgment ever made upon him. It was the obscenities directed toward his battle maiden that troubled him. Mashhur was a Templar, and his letters boasted of their vast knowledge on their enemies.

The followers of the Cross were either downright obnoxious and arrogant with their knowledge, or they actually had the upper hand in this war for equality. Altair didn't know, and that _angered _him to no end. He never liked the feeling of not knowing; it was vulnerability and a hole in his armor of knowledge and statistics.

He kept the visage of a killer without a conscious—even a killer without any thoughts for a fellow person—but it took every ounce of his willpower to restrain the urge to choke the truth out of the boy.

Or cut the truth out of him, or stab, or—

He exhaled and closed his eyes.

Then there had been Malik. Oh, dear, troublesome _Malik. _

Malik had been the one to end the interrogation for the day, putting his hand on his shoulder and murmuring that the boy had enough and was slipping from reality. It was Malik that had dismissed the other Assassin's and had pulled Altair out of the dungeons, leaving Mashhur to hang against his chains, blood trickling from his fingers and flowing down his arms.

And it was Malik that now had an entirely new view on the art of torture, though Altair was never an artist with torment and would never wish to be.

He had a word with his most trusted advisor when they were well out of earshot of Mashhur in the dungeon's keep—or, rather, he'd only frowned and opened his mouth to speak before Malik completely cut him off and hung his head in submission.

"_Visit the infirmary and then tell me what we are doing is right." _

It had left Altair baffled for two reasons. One: Masyaf was in danger, specifically _grave, concerning _danger, and Malik wanted him to pay a polite visit to the mangled boy? And two: who was he, a believer in the fact that there _was _no right, to judge such a thing?

Sometimes he wished he was still the man clouded with such over-confidence and superiority. It was so much easier to have a higher understanding in life back then. At least, that's what he always thought. Maybe he'd been deceiving himself all this time?

And who was there to blame for his weakness in understanding. Perhaps it wasn't _even _a weakness. Maybe he was just stubborn to accept the truth for what it was. Either way, he was still looking for someone to peg the blame on. Was it Malik? No, his episode of remorse in the dungeon was too recent to have him ponder his past.

Was it Maria?

He already stuck the guilt-pin on her for having a different perspective on himself. She was one of the reactants that yielded his new being. It was strange; he still looked the same on the outside, but he had never felt the grief of the beginnings of wisdom on the inside.

And he knew with age that that grief would only reproduce and grow. It was like a bottomless weed.

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. _Maria. _He hadn't seen her since that morning, and he'd be lying to himself if he didn't worry. Gossip was spreading like wildfire with all the curious novices scurrying about the fortress, and according to the latest gossip he'd picked up while striding past those three familiar boys, Maria had a small sickly spell and was still in the infirmary.

He pushed himself up from his seat. The odds that she'd wake up with pleasant smiles were not in his favor. She'd be a starving bear when she woke up—_that _was in his favor—and startle the entire regime of novices to bring her something to eat. He could already hear the rumors of "How the Master Does Not Feed His Woman" that would surely follow.

* * *

The novices scurried off with a bowl of kibbeh, cackling and giggling to themselves as they escaped with their prize. Little did they know that in the darkness of the corridor lurked an ever vigilant and festering Malik. He watched the little buggers with squinty eyes and a curled lip.

If his stomach wasn't flopping around, he knew he'd pursue the boys and take back what rightfully belonged to him. He hadn't had kibbeh in two days—_two days!—_and he was beginning to forget how it tasted. The only things he'd eaten were pita bread, labaneh, and hummus, and even then, he'd only had light meals. His stomach just wasn't in the mood to hold anything down.

He sighed and tilted his head to the side, murmuring in satisfaction when he heard the bones in his neck pop. He rolled his shoulders and emerged from the shadows, intent on making his way to the study. No doubt Altair was probably up to his ears with anxiety, and Malik owed the man an explanation and maybe even an apology.

He stopped just as he was about to turn the corner. Two voices, one male and the other female, had him slink back into his trustworthy shadow. He frowned when he recognized the voices, but then he lifted his eyes skyward. _Of course. _

"I don't think you understand our situation completely, Miss—"

"And I don't think that you understand the difference between _me _and your sister, Aden."

Hildegard crossed her arms and jutted her hip out, her eyebrow raised in agitation from the colossal man before her. His face hardened and he waited for her to explain. And explain she did. "I don't need you looking over my shoulder at everything I'm doing. For God's sake, I'm a grown woman and I'm capable of thinking on my own! I'm not your sister needing to be coddled and have my hand held every hour of the day. So if you would be so kind, I'd appreciate it if you let go of me." She glared at the hand curled around her arm.

His grip tightened as he snorted and shook his head. "How I look after my sibling is none of your concern, Hildegard. We're in trying times; the Templar's are out there and a step or so ahead of us, plotting on how to dispatch of us, and Damiel's rendered useless and unable to tell us what exactly happened to him due to his injuries. I don't think we need anything else added to that list. So if you would be so kind, I'd appreciate it if _you _didn't go cajoling about, speaking to the men in this fortress as if you've known them your entire life!"

She threw her head back and scoffed. "I will speak to whomever I wish to as I see fit. How _dare _you even ponder the idea of taking away my liberties! And don't start acting like you care for Damiel, Aden. We _both _know you hate that boy just because of the fact that he isn't an Arab trying to woo your precious little sister." She made to swat his hand away, but he pulled her closer so that she was arched against him and forced to look up into his eyes.

"Yes, I _hate _the fact that I know essentially _nothing _about Damiel! He keeps his background hidden as if the truth would maim him! And if he had nothing to hide, why would he bother hiding it? And this is beside the point." He glared down at her. "Nothing changes the fact that we're potentially compromised here. We're relying on another faction to provide for us, and soon favors will be asked of us, and when that passes by, soon these men will try to take advantage of us."

She remained unaffected by his penetrating eyes. "Is this a lack of faith in your abilities, Master Aden, or in mine? Need I remind you that I'm more than capable of looking after myself?"

"You don't know—"

"I don't know _what? _What men think of when they see a beautiful woman without a man by her side? What desires they harbor from being away from their female counterparts? After more than eight years of prostitution, you think I don't _know _the look of lust from men? Tell me, Aden, what don't I know?"

Malik blinked from this piece of information.

"You don't know if they are sincere in their actions or not. Do you want to put your trust into wolves wearing sheep's skins? Would you appreciate the feeling of betrayal when they finally expose their true natures to you, Hildegard? Or are you waiting for a repeat of your past to occur so that you'll be reduced to prostitution again?"

"So it _is _a lack of confidence on your behalf," she smirked. "All this talk about 'trust' and 'betrayal'! It makes me wonder if you're confusing my life with yours, Aden. Didn't your father put his trust in your mother to be a faithful wife, only to find her in bed with another man?" His eyes darkened, and she only continued. "Isn't that why she died? And isn't that why your father was killed by her lover—his _best _friend?"

His breathing was labored and he had his lips curled in his mouth, pressed together in a frightening, pale line.

"Oh, but you remember it clearly, don't you?" she lilted. "You were there when your _om _and her _habibi _shed their clothes and collapsed together in a tangle of limbs in the cushions, remember? You were huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth, your cries of helplessness deaf to theirs of pleasure. You tried to pull them apart, Aden. But he hit you, didn't he? You tried to protect her, Aden, but it didn't do any good. He gave you a black eye and hurt your ribs, didn't he?

"Don't you remember? You heard Zaina, who was just a few weeks old, crying from the other room when your father tore into the house. He found them, Aden. And he strangled your mother with his own hands. And you _ran. _You didn't even look back when you left that room. You gathered Zaina in your arms and you left that house far behind and never looked back."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "Poor baby," she cooed. "He has his hands full of things to take care of. He doesn't need to add Hildegard to that list." She stood on her toes and gave a quick peck to his lips before slipping away from him. His fingers unlatched from her arm as if they were greased with butter.

Patting his cheek one more time, she whispered, "But don't worry. Hildegard is a big girl now." Her light footsteps echoed off the stone floor as she walked out of the Residence Hall, leaving more than that trembling man behind.

Malik closed his eyes when he heard sobs coming from the corridor.

* * *

Ignoring the worried and curious glances from the kitchen staff, Altair continued setting the pie-like patties on the plates. They were hot to the touch, as he'd just taken them out of the oven, but they smelled even better than the Templars'. Though cooking was a rare thing for him to do—indeed, the women were bustling to and fro from seeing the Master prepare a meal that actually required the oven—he prided himself with preparing decent, satisfying courses.

He supposed that since there was only one dish, it didn't amount to a full course dinner. Either way, he was pleased with the outcome of his efforts.

The cooks were doubly so.

He blamed gossip for having him remember how pesky novices would sneak their way into the kitchen and attempt to steal a loaf of bread, only to have the staff swat at them with spoons and towels. The worst kitchen attacks always ended in the women resorting to use the tongs.

Oh, he required the tongs when he was a boy. Yes, he recalled how he, Malik, and Abbas would always be chased out of the kitchens with a few angry ladies hot on their heels. Of course, if Abbas wasn't allergic to every other spice and didn't sneeze every time he breathed (and the times in between breathing), they'd never have gotten caught in the first place.

The tabbouleh incident was one of a kind. How he remembered finding bits and pieces of salad in his clothes, hair, and even bed for weeks! Bards could rave of his adventures in the kitchen as a boy and keep their audiences occupied for hours.

He set the plates on the tray, as well as two goblets and a fresh pitcher of ayran. The staff had already left, probably to eat their own dinners. The sun was just starting to set. He couldn't recall the last time he had such an early supper.

Humming quietly to himself, he stepped out of the kitchen and made his way to the infirmary. The fortress was quiet and the last meal bell of the day rang out, confirming his assumptions. The courtyard was more than likely a mess of Assassin's hustling and bustling to fill their empty, growling stomachs.

He was glad that he wouldn't be caught in the tides of hungry novices. He smirked.

Sure enough, he could hear the echoing of footsteps hurrying inside and clambering toward the dining quarters. His humming helped a bit to dull the sound—

He stopped in his tracks right outside the infirmary door, jostling the ayran in the pitcher. He knew that tune. Heard it somewhere before—more than once, even. He creased his brow as he stared at the door, lost in thought. He tried to hum it again, but the rhythm wasn't coming to his head. Allah, _where _did he hear it before?

He always felt warm whenever he heard it. Embraced. Protected. Safe. _Loved. _

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Now was not the time to go exploring the past. Shaking himself free of the thought, he opened the door and let himself into the infirmary, first seeing Maria curled up in a bed at the far end of the room, and then shifting his gaze to the other occupant.

Slowly, he approached them and placed the tray down on a small table. He held his breath as he moved toward the bandaged body. He felt… _wrong. _He kept his distance from the boy, not even daring to touch him. There was something familiar about how the boy slept: a lax form, calm face and breathing, but the small hint of alertness and vigilance.

It was how he and his Brothers slept.

Frowning at the boy, he sat on the side of Maria's bed and averted his gaze to her. The blankets were snugly tucked around herself, almost making a cocoon, with her knees brought to her stomach and her hands folded beneath her chin. He felt himself smiling as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Then he noticed how _tired _she looked—how completely drained and exhausted she must have been, physically and emotionally. There were bags under her eyes, and her skin was a pasty white. He sighed, knowing that he was to blame.

He glanced to his side and smirked. Sticking out from the covers were toes that had the occasional twitch. He slid his hand and grabbed them, pulling her foot out from the covers. He tickled the bottom of her foot, watching how she groaned and then finally jerked her leg back under the blankets.

But he wasn't about to give up.

With her ankle in his hand, he dragged her foot back out and lightly ran his fingertips over it. She whined and shifted in the bed, turning this way and that. Just as her eyes groggily peeked open to seek out the one who dared disturb her from her slumber, he withdrew his hand and folded them on his lap.

Even with her eyes barely open, he could still see that fiery glint in her eyes, and knew that she was looking for a target to burn to a crisp.

And he was going to be just that target. Fortunately for him, she only narrowed her eyes at him before any damage could be done.

Maria frowned at him, ready to accuse him of ruining her peaceful sleep (for she knew that he was responsible for every wrongdoing ever done to her—whatever the reason may be and how bizarre it was). However, a quick whiff had her stern expression fall. She sniffed again, turning her head this way and that to find the source of the smell.

Spying the tray with the lahmajoun, her eyes brightened in delight and a small smile formed on her lips. But she quickly gave Altair a suspicious look, as if he was trying to fool her with something. Raising an impatient eyebrow when he simply sat there, she glanced at the tray and then back at him.

When he still sat there like a lump, she huffed and crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting into a pout. He eyed that lip with interest before standing and bringing the tray to the nightstand. He handed her plate to her and pulled up a chair.

She knew his eyes were on her from how her skin was tingling. She ignored his nosy stare and busied herself with her food. He didn't bring any utensils, and she certainly wasn't about to just bite into it. That'd be completely barbaric.

Her confused face was what he was searching for. Her irritated look amused him as he folded his lahmajoun into a wrap. Nodding her head, she followed suit.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked up from her lahmajoun and blinked at the man. Her mouth was stuffed with food, and if his face wasn't so full of concern, she would have suspected he was up to something.

"I heard you weren't feeling well," he clarified, watching her swallow and take a gulp of ayran.

"I was a bit woozy, but…" She looked up from her plate, noticing that Altair blocked Damiel from her field of vision. And knowing Altair, he did that on purpose. But she couldn't be angry with that. She took another bite. "I'm getting there."

He never liked that phrase. _I'm getting there. _Where is 'there', and what are you getting to be 'there'? Was it for the worse or better? And by what means are you 'getting there'?

He didn't know that he'd stopped eating and was boring holes into his plate. But Maria did, and when she reached out and squeezed his hand, he jumped from surprise.

Altair wasn't sure what was more startling: the fact that he'd let his guard down and allowed himself to be vulnerable, or the fact that he felt perfectly safe while doing so in Maria's presence.

Her voice was quiet but laced with sympathy. "What about you? Are _you _feeling well?"

A 'yes' was on the tip of his tongue, but that look she gave him had him gulp it back down. Their eyes locked together, and she offered another reassuring grin. He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he let his fatigue show. Yes, it was comforting to let his steel armor down when with Maria.

With his plate back on the nightstand, he held her hand in his lap and unconsciously brushed his thumbs over her palm. "I've been much better," he murmured.

"Tell me about it." She placed her other hand on top of his.

He inclined his head and stared at the floor as he relayed what happened between the time when she blacked out to the present. She listened to everything he had to say, nodding her head here and there and encouraging him to continue. She didn't realize that he looked bedraggled and in more need of sleep than herself. How this man could lead this Brotherhood was beyond her. If _she _was the one in charge, she'd never be able to get herself out of bed.

But then again, being Master probably had its perks.

"He betrayed all of us," he growled, "right from under our noses. Who's to say that there aren't more spies in Masyaf? I fear that our Nest is no longer safe. Who can I trust, knowing that any one of my Brothers may very well be a Templar in disguise?" He sighed again and closed his eyes. "I'm a fool to have let this all happen."

"No, you're not," she countered. "Look at me, Altair." He sluggishly brought his head up and peeled his eyes open. "The foolish thing would have been to take no action at all and to believe the letters to be lies. But you're willing to open yourself up to the sting the truth brings, and that is not foolish. Painful, but not foolish.

"And I don't think Masyaf's home to any more traitors. Hildegard seems to have wooed every one of your Assassin's into liking her, and I don't think a Templar has the bollocks to do that."

"She certainly has her ways into worming her way into everyone's life," he mused. He frowned and carefully chose his wording. "Is it foolish to be hopeful?"

She juggled the question around in her head for a few minutes before replying. "No, I wouldn't say it's foolish. Naïve, maybe, but not foolish. No, not even naïve. Innocent, I suppose you could say? I don't think it's anything to be ashamed about, either." She glanced over his shoulder and gulped down a lump from the back of her throat. "I've been hopeful for over a month now," she whispered, "and my prayers were answered."

He turned his head to the side. "Do you blame yourself for it?"

"Of course I do," she rasped out. "Who else is there to blame? I was there, I'm the one who told him to climb that stupid tower, I could have prevented this," she motioned toward Damiel's weak body, "from happening." She bit her lip and continued, "I could have prevented many things from happening, Altair."

"To err is human. Do you feel regret for being human?"

"I feel regret for making human mistakes, yes."

He looked back to her and squeezed her hands. "Even gods make mistakes, Maria."

She snorted. "I thought you said you didn't believe in any deities?"

"I don't," he agreed. "I'm not a follower of their religion, but…"

"The Apple," she murmured. "You've been looking into the Apple, haven't you?"

"Not recently, no. But there have been images. Something happened many years ago, Maria. A disaster, some form of pandemonium shook the ground and destroyed many lives."

She shrugged and blew out of her mouth. "I don't see the point in worrying on what happened so long ago."

"Studying the past helps us understand the present and future, Maria."

"But obsessing over it doesn't do you any good, either."

"I can't help but to think that they're trying to warn us."

"Who's 'they'?"

"I don't know."

Maria laughed and rolled her eyes. She rearranged her hands so that his were sandwiched between hers. "You know, when I was younger, my parents used to say that God knew everything that we were doing and could see every black deed in our souls. Of course," she chuckled as she rearranged their hands again, "those threats became more and more common and insistent as I continued to rebel against society's norm for women. Oh, if I had a coin for every time they said it, I'd be rich.

"I used to believe it, too—that He could see into me. I prayed every night, trying to explain to Him my reasons for wanting to be my own person." She fiddled with their hands again. "I don't know when I stopped believing. Maybe I still believe it, and maybe I just don't care what He thinks of me. If he's all knowing, then he should understand why I don't want to be cut from the same cloth as every other woman."

"You talk with your hands," Altair whispered, watching her place her hand on top of his, then switch the arrangement.

"Yes, I do," she smiled, "doesn't everyone?" He held her hand when she tried to assort them again. She huffed from his intervention. "And so what will you do now?"

"I plan on continuing Mashhur's interrogation tomorrow. I'll resort to more severe torture, though I doubt it'll be good for my health, after seeing…" His voice trailed off as he glanced behind him. Maria had closed her eyes and was biting the inside of her cheek. "I need to keep Masyaf safe, Maria, by whatever means necessary."

"And those Templar's had to keep their Order safe by whatever meant necessary. And look what happened. The proof is on that bed right over there."

"Maria," he cupped her face in his hands. "There is a very, _very _clear difference between my actions and those of whoever did this to your friend. I stain my conscious with permanent sin to continue the fight for mankind's survival and not for personal glory of satisfaction. You know this. You know me, Maria."

"Do I?" She opened her eyes. "Would you do to that boy what they did to Damiel, Altair? Would you sew his skin with silver thread? Would you have him sit on the Chair? Would you brand him with coals? Would you—"

"—Maria—"

"—use a needle to carve designs in his penis? Would you brand the Templar insignia on his nipple to show dominance? Would you—"

"—_Maria—"_

"—stretch his limbs out with the Rack? Would—"

"Maria, _stop." _He brought her face closer to his so that their foreheads rested against each other's. He brushed her cheeks and temples with his thumbs, his eyes melting her own under his unbreakable gaze. "It is my duty as Masyaf's leader to see to her wellbeing. It rests upon my shoulders, and my shoulders alone, to verify that the Brotherhood survives."

"Are you seeking my pity?"

"No, I'm not. I can tell you this: I'd sustain everything you just listed if it meant keeping my Creed and Brothers alive. I would welcome each cycle of torture with a smile on my face if it was protecting my sworn purpose in this life. And I believe your friend withstood everything that happened to him because _he _believed. He knew what he was doing in his heart."

"Don't speak as if you know him, Assassin."

"I'm entitled to my own opinion, Maria, and I'll be damned if even voicing that is a wrongdoing."

"It seems that even breathing is considered a wrongdoing."

"So it seems."

"You avoided my question. I'd appreciate it if you addressed it."

"Haven't I said enough?"

"No, you haven't." She swatted his hands from her and stood from the bed, ignoring the sudden wave of nausea from the sudden movement. She stared down at him with Hell in her eyes. "And I'm tired of having everything I ask be avoided like it's some goddamn curse." She turned to leave, but he stood and snatched her wrist. She was tugged backward and spun into him. His arms immediately locked around her waist, holding her to himself and keeping her from escaping.

She fiercely tried to push him away, but he ignored her pounding fists against his chest and held her that much tighter. He knew that if she was really set on leaving, she would have bitten his nose off and scratched his eyes out.

"Listen to me," he darkly hissed into her ear. He waited until her thrashings ceased before looking her straight in the eye. Once he was sure that she actually was listening, he continued. "I would, Maria, I would."

She inhaled and tensed in his arms, the wrath swirling in her irises intensifying to a horrific navy blue. "Would you rip his heart from his body, show it to him, and then put it back? _Answer me," _she snapped when he went completely rigid.

His mouth became dry as he relentlessly met her scrutiny. The question was too inhuman, so _abysmal _for him to answer. He _couldn't _answer—

"You're a monster," she mumbled. He let her pull away from him as his face drained of color. His eyes were two large, disbelieving hazel orbs from what she'd just said. She took a step back, and he unconsciously reached out for her, causing her to back away further.

"Maria." So forlorn and empty was his voice that it frightened her. Her head swiveled back and forth as she continued to back away toward the door. She bit her lip when his face fell further.

Maria wordlessly shrieked as she bumped into something warm and alive, her eyes tearing away from Altair to the man behind her.

"Ahh, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Fortunately for me, the novices have finally remembered that even though I'm retired, I'm still _alive. _Gossip is coming through my door hourly, now. Sometimes I wish I had my privacy back." Rauf smiled wide enough for four people and stepped further into the room.

"While you were away, Maria, I took it upon myself to mend your broken equipment. Here," he unsheathed the sword and showed it to Maria. "The other one is still under repair, but I suspect that in another week, it should be as good as new." He smiled as she took the blade from him and mechanically looked the sword over. Ivory seemed to be just as Rauf said: as good as new. There wasn't a single flaw to her.

Rauf glanced back and forth between the Master and the woman, completely oblivious to the tension between the two. Maria chanced a glimpse at the man, and to her horror, he seemed completely calm and in tact. She felt her chest tighten painfully from her observation. Not a hint of sweat on his brow, confident shoulders, straight back, and clear eyes.

Maria sheathed Ivory and clutched the weapon to her chest.

"We can continue our work in the smithy as soon as you're feeling up to it," Rauf beamed, smiling a toothy grin. "There is much to be done. Those stupid boys in the training ring broke _more _swords, and it's up to us to fix them up—the swords, not the boys, though I'd love to have a wallop or two at them."

Maria listlessly nodded as she stared at the floor. If Altair noticed her, he didn't even approach her. Rauf turned to him next.

"And ah, Altair! Nabil told me earlier that you were collecting lists of supplies we need. I made one of some of the ores that could be purchased, now to find it, hmm…" He searched throughout his robe, turning pockets inside and out and then moving onto the pouches strapped at his belt.

Maria balanced herself on the balls of her feet, swaying unsteadily side to side. She could feel the room spinning before herself, and Rauf's voice boomed through her head.

"Ahh, here it is!" He produced the crumpled, wrinkled, stained, smelly, folded, creased, rumpled, and crinkled sheet of paper from his largest pocket and held it out to the Master. "Everything is written down right there, and I would be most grateful if we saw to the purchases as soon as possible." He continued to babble, even as Altair brushed past him.

Maria's eyes crossed as she stumbled over her own feet. The whole room tilted to the side as she lost her footing.

Something was supporting her. She whimpered as arms held her by the waist and propped her against something solid. She blinked the stars from her eyes, trying to focus on the face she was looking up into.

His eyes blinked back at hers as he kept her on her feet.

"I—I…" She struggled to form the words, her lips flapping uselessly together. He shushed her and rubbed her back, cradling her closer to him. She whimpered again as the room rocked back and forth like a ship amongst cruel tides.

He murmured comforting words into her ear while stroking her hair.

Maria was anything but comforted. She could feel it coming—and _oh, _was it coming. That nauseating feeling of… of…

"And _then, _on the second day that you were gone, there was an outbreak of chickens in the marketplace. At first sight, it seemed like a coincidence, but _ah, ah, ah," _Rauf tutted. "Those boys were up to it again! They need leashes and harnesses, I tell you. And chokers, too. No harm in chokers, I always say, especially when it comes to immature novices."

"I…I—I…" Her eyes crossed again.

"Quiet, _habibti,"_ he breathed against her lobe.

"And _then, _on the fourth day that you were gone, Tamam rampaged throughout the entire fortress that he could not find his down slippers! First, he accused _me _of stealing them, but evidence of my innocence was found when Rakin walked in on us wearing them! Serves that trainer right!"

"Al..Alt—" He squeezed her waist in reassurance. _Oh, _she wished he didn't do that! The only thing it reassured was—

"I…I'm…" She tried to hide in his robes.

He tilted her chin so that she was looking at him. "Hush, Maria, you're alr—"

"I think… I think…" she stammered, blinking away the splotches from her vision. "I think I'm—no, I _know _I'm going to be—"

"And _then, _on the _final _day that you were gone—_who _is _that?" _

He nodded his head in understanding, though he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. "It's alright, Maria—"

"I'm going to be sick," she whispered. He frowned and blinked at this, not comprehending what she meant. But her actions spoke louder than her words.

She heaved forward as it came out, soaking part of his face and robes, and splattered to the ground. He was too shocked, surprise, and startled to do anything. He only stood there as she continued to hurl on him.

He was covered in it. He was _soaking wet _with it. It dripped off of him, only to drip onto her, and it dripped off of her only to drip onto him. She clutched his robes and hid her face in them. She felt humiliated beyond words and sick to her stomach. Literally.

Altair cringed and shook his hand free of the puke before embracing her again. Chunks of lahmajoun stuck to his robes, but he'd deal with that later. He tucked her head to his chest with his chin. If she cared that the barf on his face was now matting her hair down, she didn't say one word. And if he cared that she was still spewing that horrid _ick _out of her mouth—Hell, he was already drenched in it anyway.

Rauf shuffled closer to the boy in the bed, his mouth falling wide open as he brushed aside the boy's hair from his face. "_Ooumma," _he breathed out, not believing his eyes for an instant. He blinked his eyes to make sure it wasn't a dream, and then turned around to confront the other two in the room about his discovery.

He certainly wasn't expecting to see the Master and his woman decorated with puke. It was quite a sight for Rauf—just how much time had past, anyway?—but one that he quickly brushed aside. He turned back to the boy and shook his head in disbelief.

"Allah, strike me down now if what I'm seeing isn't real," he mumbled. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd be face to face with his son."

* * *

**Well, that certainly was fun to write! :D**

**Translations**:

_Shêtân: _Arabic for Satan/Devil

_sharmuta: _Arabic for whore/prostitute

_om: _Arabic for 'mother'

_habibi/habibti: _Arabic for sweetheart/darling/love/honey (_habibti _is feminine)

Labaneh: a Middle Eastern food made of yogurt, mint, red pepper or paprika (your choice), olive oil, nuts (optional)

Hummus: ground up chick peas made into a paste :D Delicioso!

Lahmahjoun: also delicious and mentioned in previous chapter

Falafel: I think this will explain it better than I ever could: http : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = k S E a m I x C r 7 s & f e a t u r e = related

Tabbouleh: Again, this will explain it better than I ever could: h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = 1 F a N z r t u 0 K M & f e a t u r e = related

Yes, I _did _allude to these two links in this chapter. Kudos to those who find it!


	29. Chapter 23

**Apologies for updating so late. I know you're probably not interested in my excuses, but what the hey.**

**I've been busy with school, work, family problems, lack of interest in this story, artist's block, etc etc. I had to drown myself in Revelations videos just to have a bit of inspiratio come fluttering back to me, and that itself exhausted me. I'm not fond of this chapter, it's a bit laid back, but I think it sets a nice stage for the coming chapters. Anyways.**

**I appreciate the messages reminding me to update; they make me feel a bit better about Loving Hate. But I'm sorry if my updates are spaced apart. I can promise you another chapter with this story. Always. But I can't promise I'll have them up quickly. Fanfiction is about five percent of my life, so I don't really have time to work on chapters that much.**

**But nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter! All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.**

* * *

Altair turned his head toward Rauf as the man continued to murmur to himself. Rauf would mutter something beneath his breath, examine the boy as if to confirm something, and then let out a relieved sigh. He shook his head back and forth, ran a hand through his hair, and then resumed his musing. Altair knew Rauf to have somewhere near fifty years to his age, but at that moment, he looked ten years lesser than he actually was. His eyes were bright with life and he was light on his feet as he scurried back and forth to the other sides of the bed.

"I can't believe it," Rauf whispered, a smile threatening to break his face in two. "He's finally returned to us, after all these years. _Allah, _he's come back."

The Master of Assassin's would have questioned Rauf's sanity if he wasn't occupied with the woman still in his arms. Maria trembled as she relied on him to keep her steady, and her face was still buried in his robes. He didn't raise his voice above a whisper as he did his best to comfort her. His hands, now covered in her vomit, ran up and down her back. He ignored the smell of it, reminding himself that he was to be blamed for her fragile state.

As soon as her quiet whimpers faded to nothing, he held her out from himself. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face a sickly white with a tint of blue to it, and there was a gruesome scowl smeared across her features. Using a clean part of his robe, he dabbed that disgusting filth from her face. When her eyelids didn't so much as flutter from his touch, he concluded that she wasn't conscious. Whether she fainted again, he couldn't say.

But he couldn't allow himself to just _leave _her in this condition—soiled, soggy, and miserable. One quick glance at Rauf told him that he wasn't obliged to help him; nay, he was far too engrossed with his babblings. He shifted his hold on her so that she was cradled in his arms and was about to carry her out of the infirmary when the solution to his predicament came strolling through the doorway.

In the form of Hildegard and that monstrous man, Aden, no less.

"Now, Aden, I understand that you and Maria aren't exactly on the most… _amicable _terms, but I do put trust in your lustrous abilities that you will be able to—" Hildegard paused midsentence and mid-step as she locked eyes on the sight in front of her. And what a sight it was. Had Aden not been paying attention, he would have rammed right into her.

"Oh, for the love of Saint Mary," Hildegard groaned, "don't tell me she puked _again._" But of course she knew that her question was foolish; Altair seemed healthy as could be—it certainly wasn't _his _barf scattered all over himself, Maria, and the floor. "I _just _cleaned her up this morning!"

Altair sighed and glanced back and forth between Hildegard and Maria. "Apologies, Hildegard, but—"

"No, don't tell me," Hildegard piped as she held up her hand, "men just don't know how to deal with such things, I know this already." Throwing her hands in the air when Altair frowned and took a step closer to her, she snarled, "Don't even _think _about asking me to—_no, _don't look at me like that—find someone else."

He was relentless.

Hildegard was persistent.

Aden was dumbfounded.

Scoffing, Hildegard crossed her arms and grumbled, "Fine, but I expect a form of praise for this—like a larger room and maybe my own private bath. That would be very much appreciated. And don't expect me to tidy you up, too. At least _you _aren't unconscious." Altair held Maria out for Hildegard, but the woman turned her head to her companion. "Master Aden, be a dear and carry this lump of luggage for me, won't you?"

He nodded without a single word coming from his lips and obeyed Hildegard as he took Maria from Altair's arms and swung her over his shoulder like a sack. The Assassin's face ignited in fury as Aden marched away, as stiff as a scolded dog with their tail between their legs, with Hildegard in tow, and he would have bopped him on the head again if Rauf didn't step forward and motion for him.

"Altair," he started, touching the man's shoulder and nodding toward the bed. Rauf's entire being seem to glow as he blinked like a man surrounded by mountains of baklava. Even when he saw Ivory discarded on the floor without any second thought, his joviality didn't falter for a second. "Altair, do you have any idea who this is?"

Altair turned his head to where Rauf gestured and nodded. "Yes, he's part of Benjamin's and Hildegard's faction, The Rose, and also a dear friend to Maria. What of it?"

Rauf shook his head and clicked his tongue, striding back over to the bedside. "No, Altair, that's not all there is to it, I'm afraid. _Yalla! _I should have investigated as soon as our scouts brought the boy back in from the Kingdom. Being in that smithy for so long separated a man from current events," he mused with a sad twinkle in his eye. He blinked, his face returning to childish wonder as he threw his hand into the air.

With a trembling hand, he brushed the stray locks of dirty hair from Damiel's forehead, then peeled back an eyelid. "He has her eyes," Rauf smiled. He turned back to Altair, as if remembering that the other man was still in the room with him, and touched his shoulder. "Come. I can explain it better to you in another place—one that is fitting for the words I am going to trust you with."

* * *

The walk down to Memory Hall was silent, save for the two Assassins' footfalls upon the stone steps. Rauf, several paces ahead of Altair, bounded with a happy skip in his stride, occasionally shaking his head in wonder and rubbing his palms together. The Master of Assassin's watched him with a raised brow, concerned as to how much sanity remained in his old friend.

Rauf suddenly stopped once they reached the Hall. He sighed and took his time strolling through the room, throwing glances this way and that toward several of the plaques. "You can feel how different the atmosphere is down here," he whispered to himself, even with Altair walking abreast to him. "There's a certain heaviness to it, but not something that chokes you, no. Sometimes I wonder if it is just my age or experience—maybe both—but whenever I step foot in this place, I _know _they're watching us." He didn't need a response from his Master to know that the other man thought the same.

"And by Allah," Rauf murmured as he inclined his head in front of a plaque, "sometimes I feel as if it has such an effect on me because I _knew _them." He motioned toward the plaque as Altair stood beside him. "Over a decade has past since he died, and for over a decade I lost hope that I'd never see or hear of his kin again. He was a good man—a _damn _good man, even if he contained a wicked deviation to his actions—and brought a glimmer of happiness to one man's," he glanced at Altair, "life."

"_Jenaro Karkafian," _Altair read aloud from the plaque. His brow creased in recognition of the name. "Are you—"

"He had a wondrous method to revealing the beauty of Man and Nature—so wondrous that he was deemed a threat." The corners of Rauf's mouth twisted downward in a grimace. "Complications arose, ideas sprouted. And you and I both know that when sheep begin to stray, their shepherds call the dogs without a moment's hesitation."

Altair's hand curled in a fist. "And what was Al Mualim's punishment for his open mind?"

"Ironic how our Creed states the foundations of freedom," Rauf snorted, "and yet Jenaro was forced to leave Masyaf, along with his friends and Brothers, behind. Oh, but of course, to anyone blind to Al Mualim's conspiracy—which was almost everyone—it seemed like a grand opportunity for the Assassin's to spread our influence to other lands.

"Needless to say, The Karkafian wasn't seen in Masyaf ever again after being sent to Spain. And, fortunately for the honest, loyal Hashshashin, Al Mualim's plan resulted in a well-fortified fortress nestled in the mountains of Andorra.

"But if only he stayed," Rauf sighed, "then perhaps he would have succeeded in unearthing Al Mualim's plots of betrayal. No, I _know _he would have been victorious, what with Barakah, Catherine, and Siran aligned with him—" Rauf stopped, clamping his mouth shut as if he was a child who'd been caught red-handed, and stared at the floor in horror.

The Master's head swiveled in his direction, his eyes narrowing as he hissed, "_Who?" _

Rauf's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air as he formed incomprehensible sounds. He blinked rapidly and turned his head away from the other man, stuttering, "I-I've already said too much. _Allah, _I've said far, far too much."

About to press the matter further and demand answers, Altair was interrupted by a shy grunt. Both men whirled around, coming face to face with a timid Rakin, shuffling his feet as he toed the floor with a nervous foot.

"Master," the novice murmured, keeping his eyes downcast. "Master, Malik requests your presence immediately. According to him, there is a, ah," he paused, remembering the exact words, "an urgent matter, involving Hildegard, the boulder-man, and a bowl of soup, that requires your attention." He tucked his chin into his neck, shuffling his feet further as his cheeks reddened from the two pairs of eyes on him.

"The… 'boulder-man'?" Altair questioned, an incredulous look stretched over his face.

When Rakin squeaked from being addressed, Rauf stepped in to save the poor boy from fainting just by mere acknowledgment. "It's the title Malik has chosen for Aden—the man who bombarded your woman in the marketplace, remember? Apparently, the novices approve of this and refer to him as such." When the Master raised both eyebrows at him, Rauf shrugged, explaining, "Well, I _told _you that gossip is flowing through the barracks faster than we're running out of ores. Speaking of which—"

Altair held a hand up, silencing Rauf, and nodded to Rakin before stepping past the novice and climbing the stairs back to the main level.

It was when he actually set foot in the foyer that he cursed under his breath. Rakin most likely heard his and Rauf's conversation, and the entire city would be simmering with murmurs of the boy pulled in from the Kingdom.

* * *

Tears had never held a remarkable portion of Hildegard's life. Yes, there were the times as a girl where she'd trip over her own feet or stub a toe, but she had her parents or siblings to run to for comfort. Always was there a shoulder for her to bury her face in, and just the knowledge of having the concern of several people was enough to keep tears from her brown eyes.

Even the thought of her brother, that foolish man who gripped the Cross with a steel clutch, did not have her eyes water in feminine pouts.

And even as Aden's fist connected with her face, she did not cry. She did not shout, she did not whimper. She only accepted it, bringing a gentle hand to her throbbing cheek and rubbing the bruised skin with tender strokes.

And not once did she show a red nose, puffed eyes, or a trembling lip.

Her disregard to the situation had the Assassin's in the foyer stop in their tracks, confused as to why the woman wasn't calling for help or hurling insults, or fists, at her attacker.

But there was no need to berate a guilty dog. And Hildegard knew this.

Hildegard sighed, the bowl of soup still intact and warm in her hand. Holding her hand in front of her face, she stared at the red droplets. The blood on her fingertips seemed to intrigue her instead of infuriate her. Wiping her thumb over the cut and not even leaving a smear in its wake, she gave Aden a disappointed frown.

He stood there, shaking like a newborn colt, his hands curled in loose fists, staring at her as if he expected her to lash out at him.

But Aden didn't know the first thing about control. And Hildegard did.

She shook her head, her lips curled in a contented smile, her face still beautiful even with blood trickling down her cheek. She held the soup out to him. "As I said, Master Aden, since Maria has been tended to and is resting, you should eat your dinner. It'd be a shame if it chilled by the time you ate it."

His arms shook as he snatched the bowl away from her, glaring at the soup as if it was poison. His eyes wandered to Hildegard's as he waited for her confirmation. He was only graced by an encouraging nod before he turned and left the foyer.

He walked like a puppet on strings.

Hildegard sighed and glanced at the small crowd before her. Several of the Assassin's shifted uncomfortably while others bobbed their heads up and down in awe. Among the men, she saw her, that feeble and delicate girl, gawking in horror from seeing her big brother, her knight in shining armor, reduced to a skittish pup.

Rolling her eyes as the group dispersed, she turned just in time to see Malik. The usual sparkle of mischief in his dark eyes was gone, and in its stead was just that: darkness. She mirrored his blank expression, her stoic posture remaining complete as he shook his head, turning on his heel so quickly that he nearly crashed into the man approaching him.

With his back to her, she couldn't see the warning he gave to Altair.

And through the Master's eyes, he did not see the woman who just put a man in his place. He saw the familiar chipper smile and proud chin that only Hildegard wore.

She sauntered over to him, sighing dramatically as she didn't seem to care that blood was drying on her face. "Maria's been bathed and cleaned—though, mind you, it was none too pleasant for me. Next time she decides to up-chuck, don't expect Hildegard to come breaking through the door in rescue again."

He studied her face, noticing the smear of red. "What happened?"

"Oh," she drawled while examining her fingers, "nothing that significant, I assure you. I've just found a more effective way to handle Aden other than bopping him on the head. Really, you should consider what might become of your hands from too many punches! Broken knuckles, swelled fingers, callouses—it _can't _be good for your health, I must say!

"And as Master of these dashing men, appearance is most crucial, is it not?"

Altair folded his arms over his chest, staring down at the woman. "You should be able to tell me, shouldn't you?"

His remark caught her off guard as she tilted her head to the side, her eyes flashing in temporary fear. Saving her cracking masquerade, she grinned and batted her lashes. "Perhaps," she shrugged, taking a small step away from him, "but perhaps not. Only time will tell though, no?"

He nodded. "And tell it will." He kept his eyes on her until his glare had her take another step away. Without saying a word, she raised her chin and shot him an ugly look before stalking out of the foyer, her steps heavy and deliberate.

His lips twisted in a satisfied smirk as he watched her leave. Hildegard might have been able to bring Aden down a few pegs and knock him from his high horse, but that woman didn't have the capacity to loop her collar around an eagle in flight. There was only one woman who could, if she wished to, break what little humanity he'd managed to scrounge together over the past three years.

And that woman was not Hildegard.

While he still wanted to corner and, if necessary, wrangle more information out of Rauf—just who were Catherine and Barakah, and _why _did those names sound so familiar?—he knew that he should stop by the infirmary and see with his own eyes how she was fairing. With Hildegard in such a wonky mood, there was no telling what garbage she'd announce just to have an eye or two glance her way.

Their last words swarmed in his head; the scene played out too graphically and accurately. Her distant eyes, the way she forced herself away from him, the remorse etched into every tense, untrusting muscle in her body. He wanted to forget it, forget the words she said to him—

But before he knew it, his feet were taking him to the infirmary on their own accord.

* * *

Nabil and Mustafa stared at Rakin, each wearing different expressions. Mustafa's eyes were bright with wonder and boyish amusement, and his mouth was relaxed in a calm smile, a chuckle making itself known on occasion.

Nabil, however, wasn't as entertained as Mustafa was. His lips pressed together in a pert line, he clicked his tongue and shook his head at Rakin's fairytale. He grumbled to himself, tutting and fussing over each sentence his friend spoke.

At last, with Rakin's cheeks as pink as Mustafa's furnace-burnt ones, the breathless boy gulped down air as he finished what he'd heard in Memory Hall. His audience blinked at him as they absorbed the information.

"Rubbish," Nabil dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Sons of legends don't just wander in from the Kingdom, Rakin. You must have misheard."

"He didn't wander in," Mustafa corrected with a chuckle. "He was dragged in, remember?"

"The royal carriage probably picked him up and escorted him on leopard-print and soft cushions," Nabil grunted. "Why should we get our boots in a knot just because of some man's son? If you ask me, he's dead and worthless meat. He's probably drained the fortress of its medicinal herbs by now, no?"

Mustafa frowned at him as they walked down the corridors of Masyaf. "How can you judge a man—"

"—Little _boy—"_

"Without allowing him a chance to demonstrate himself? That's a bit rash, even for you, Nabil, don't you think?"

"He's always rash and brash," Rakin whimpered while hugging himself. "He likes to make himself seem bigger by chewing on the helpless."

"_No," _Nabil snapped, "that isn't true at all! Listen to yourself, Rakin. I never knew you had the talents of a poor liar. Fantasizing about the son of a man who founded an Assassin fortress! Oh, spare me, I think my ribs are cracking from my laughter."

They continued on, Mustafa's patience thinning by each remark Nabil made to Rakin. He thought his normally humble demeanor would snap at any second, but thankfully, a sniffling sound made him stop in his steps.

He looked around the hall, his friends too busy bickering with each other to notice him lagging behind, and scurried to the opposite end of the hall. He tilted his head to the side when a girl, maybe a year or so younger than him, had her head buried in her knees as she cried in a corner.

Mustafa rubbed the back of his neck, curious as to whether he should leave her be to wallow in her own misery and sort things out by herself, or to stay and comfort the girl.

Hearing Rakin screech and whimper from down the hall made his mind up quicker than he would have thought possible. And besides, Mustafa was never a person to pass a blind eye over a distressed individual.

Especially a distressed damsel.

He cleared his throat, a smile about to stretch on his lips and heroic words forming in his mind. But any suave, charismatic anecdote he planned on reciting died in his throat as the girl's head snapped up. She stared at him as if he was Medusa instead of Mustafa.

He feared for a moment that he accidentally turned her into stone, even—what would Nabil say to _that? _Rakin would, without a doubt, have a field day and start with the '_I told you so'_sto no end.

Tension was thick between them as they blinked and stared at each other, she in bewildered fear and he in bewildered confusion. Malik's kibbeh, she seemed to sink further into her corner as the seconds wore on.

Until Mustafa did what he was known for doing in tight situations; he chuckled.

Apparently, she mistook the gleeful sound as a hiss since she held her knees to her chest even tighter. The poor thing didn't even have long hair to hide behind—odd that a woman had such short, unruly hair. He dismissed the thought with a shrug, which in turn earned him another cower.

At a loss, Mustafa sighed and slouched his shoulders. He pulled out a small cloth from one of the few pouches on his waistband and held it out to her. He felt as if he was in front of a tense, cowering fighting dog licking its wounds. When she only glared at the cloth as if it would jump out and eat her, he exhaled again and placed the handkerchief on her knees.

Not knowing how else to help the frail little thing, he shrugged and walked away, a chuckle the last thing Zaina heard before he rounded the corner.

* * *

One step forward, two steps back. Half a step forward, one step back. Three steps closer, four retreating.

_Five _steps—reverse.

Altair clenched his jaw in frustration. _Why _couldn't he bring himself closer to that damn bed? She was _right there_, cleaned and buried in a heap of blankets and cushions, looking oblivious and as peaceful as a newborn child. And as innocent as one.

_Innocence. _He frowned from the word. She'd slayed ruffians, combatted Saracens, fought in wars. Just what was so innocent about Maria Thorpe that prevented him from coming six feet closer to that bed?

He tried again, only ending up one step further from where he started. Pursing his lips in frustration, he ran his hands through his hair. Was it because she killed not for the praise of another, but for her own peace of mind?

Maybe. Then he was the same, and he was by far anything but innocent. No, there were too many shades of red on his hands to be considered innocent. All of the men and women that were no more, torn from their families and friends, gone because of _him. _At least he could find solace in the fact that no children were taken from the cruel world by his blade.

And he could deduce from the way his legs refused to move, how his hands shook and how he could feel the sickening flow of crimson on his palms that he did not deserve to cross that short distance to her.

No, these hands did not have the right to mar the innocence of this woman.

* * *

And so the days wore by, turning into a futile week. Masyaf seemed to huddle in its mountain; the novices scurried to and fro the fortress with a bit more anxiety in their feet; the elders scoured the library for a lack of anything better to do; the eagles contented themselves by staying in their nests and away from the thick miasma settling on the Master's slopes.

The Master himself reflected Masyaf's troubled condition. Boots tracked mud in from the soggy and soaked town, scattering dirt and God knew what else over the fortress. The study looked anything but impressive; the streaks of dirt over the floor added even more dread to Altair's thoughts.

Mashhur would not speak. Where the novice found the strength to keep his mouth closed even with hot rods pressed to his skin, Altair would never know. Perhaps the boy was promised Paradise as a gift for aiding the Templars, and perhaps the boy was foolish enough to believe such false words.

There was no doubt that Mashhur knew the Templars' plans—his boisterous letters were proof enough that the boy knew _something. _And that something was what the Master wanted to know.

It would have to wait until the following morn. They'd finished with the boy's interrogation earlier in the day, and Altair was in no mood to even consider the thought of returning to the dungeons. The smell of Mashhur's feces and bloodied body was enough to turn any man in the opposite direction.

But that was not the case with Maria Thorpe. Anger welled up inside of her after every step she took brought her closer to that damned rat. If she hadn't been careful when timing her visit, she knew that she'd be receiving curious and suspicious glares from several of the Assassin's that frequented the halls.

She stood in front of his cell, sucking in a breath of air to aid in her composure. She told herself that her reasons for even making the effort to visit this poor excuse of a human being were far different than Altair's. Where he sought to protect an entire Order, she did this for one person's sake.

_Damiel. _

She couldn't sit by his bedside any longer without knowing answers. And if Mashhur was aligned with the Templars, the worm had to know at least a lick of what happened to Damiel and why it happened.

The snake was right there, his shoulders slumped and head hung in a victorious defeat. Blood was so heavily caked on his wrists that the cuffs were stained. His clothes were in tatters, barely hanging onto his skinny frame. She gnashed her teeth together, disgusted by both what the Assassin's were capable of doing—particularly _her _Assassin—and why this boy deserved such animosity.

She held no regard for the fact that Mashhur's putrid stench wafted into her nose, or that she was compromising Masyaf by slamming the cell door open and storming inside. The traitor's eyes peeled open and glared at her as if she was Satan incarnated. He didn't even bother lifting his head.

"Has the Assassin's _sharmuta _decided to lavish her… _attentions _on me?" he coughed with a smirk. Blood dribbled from between his lips before dripping to the red floor.

Maria latched her fingers around his throat with one hand, while the other lifted his chin so that he could see the full force of her hatred in her grey pools of rage. "The only attentions you'll be receiving from me are questions," she hissed. "Are you responsible for the state the boy is in that the scouts brought in from the Kingdom?"

He offered a weak laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The others have asked, the others have not received answer—" He screeched as Maria dug her thumb in his windpipe. Her nails cut into his chin, making the boy whimper from the stinging pain.

"You're already coated with blood, do you think I would hesitate to spill a little more from you?"

"_Tal has tizee," _he grounded out, his teeth bared and his eyes two volatile slits.

"Did you know that a man does not need all of his teeth to speak?" She moved her hand so that it kept his mouth open while she tapped his canines with her fingers. When he tried to gulp and scream in fear, she tightened her hold. "Now answer me, or so help me, God, I will carve out your tonsils and make you eat them, you piece of shit. What were your connections to the boy?"

Her fingers uncurled the slightest degree, allowing him enough air to speak. When he chose silence, she gripped one of his canines and began pulling on it. "You have how many years to you, now?" she whispered. "Seventeen, eighteen? You won't be receiving any replacement teeth if I pull them out. Not that your body doesn't know that you don't even deserve mercy."

"You," he snarled, "have no idea what our plans are. You speak as if you have a firm hold on reality, but I can see it in your eyes. So why don't you succumb to it? Cower behind your darling Assassin, suckle on the breast of false hope. You delay the inevitable by doing otherwise."

"What's inevitable? When the Templars claim Pieces of Eden?"

He uttered a choked chuckle and shook his head. "Does it bother you? That you're _losing? _That if you didn't choose to fall prey to petty, ambitious thoughts you'd be _winning? _But he knows this already—"

"Who knows what?"

Mashhur smirked. "Clarence knows where your true place is, Maria. He knows you wouldn't try anything, or else you'll witness your blood die."

Her eyes narrowed as she applied more pressure to his jaw. "Hiding behind riddles has only one reward, and we both know that you'd loathe having more pain brought onto you."

"This pain is temporary," he bit back, struggling against the cuffs as her hand threatened to break his jaw. "But the pain between your thighs won't be when Clarence holds you down, you bitch."

"Clarence has no hold over me—nothing to keep me from planting my sword in his chest. But he has hold over you, doesn't he? What promises did he make? Women? Wine? Fortune? You think he'd stay true to his word once he's done with you?"

"A clever attempt, woman, but nothing will sway my allegiance."

Maria shook her head, listening to the boy wheeze and gasp as her nail dug into his gums. "And how clever would Clarence be to storm the Assassin fortress to reclaim his little spy? Or would it be easier to let the boy die, knowing that he would have pitiful faith in him to be his savior and rescue him from the Eagle's talons while withholding silence? I'll let you ponder the choices to see which is wiser."

With one final jerk of her arm, Maria released him and opened the cell door to make her leave.

"But tell me something." Mashhur's words made her stop and turn her head to the side. Eager to have the final laugh, Mashhur sneered, "Does the Assassin enjoy how it stretches around him, how _good _the tightness feels around it?"

Maria's jaw shifted as she glowered at the boy. "Not as much as you'll enjoy having your limbs stretched out." She resumed her pace, but not without adding, "_Kus umek, kelb." _

She didn't even see the one-armed Assassin become one with a shadow as she past him.

* * *

But then results came.

Masyaf picked itself up, the three chatty novices spreading word of a small victory that occurred in the dungeons. From the marketplace to the barracks, Masyaf's people's feet lightened and their shoulders straightened. They had their reasons, surely—the Master had finally strangled confessions out of Mashhur—but the reason for rejoice was quite different for others in the little fortress on the cliff.

"You know, Sarah," Benjamin cleared his throat, eying the woman in front of him, "the game of chess has many rules, but the number one rule is that it requires two people." He sighed when she still didn't pay him any mind. Nay, she was too busy stroking Damiel's cheek. Somehow, she had scooted her chair over to his bedside—how he didn't hear the chair legs scraping against the floor, Benjamin didn't know—and had devoted the past five minutes to examining him and checking his bandages.

She idly hummed while brushing Damiel's curls out of his face. She and Benjamin had finally taken a knife to the boy's hair, as well as soap and water. His skin still resembled the moon on a cloudy, grey night, but there was the faintest touch of pink to his cheeks that gave her hope. And, damn Mashhur, she _would _be a fool and suckle the teat of despair.

Maria lifted her head when Benjamin cleared his throat again. She offered a sheepish shrug as he raised an eyebrow at her. "Pardon, Benjamin; what were you saying?" Her hand remained on Damiel's cheek, even when Benjamin motioned back to the chessboard. "Oh," she chuckled, moving one of her pieces.

"Well, that's better," Benjamin grunted. "If I have to wait ten minutes for you to make a move, I might as well ask Bayo to play instead." He scratched the stubble on his chin, a reminder that if he didn't want to look like a grizzly bear, he'd have to shave soon. "You seem well," he started, happy that she was paying attention to the board. "Well, as far as I can tell. You're holding your food down, at least."

"Hn," she snorted. "It's nice having a full stomach, Benny."

"I'm sure it is, I'm sure it—_blast, _why do I always fall for that one? First Olivia, now you." Benjamin's eyebrows almost hid his eyes as he frowned, watching Maria snag one of his pieces. "Perhaps it's a female concept."

"No," Maria laughed as she took another piece, "it's called _strategy, _Benjamin."

"And was dozing off and coddling over Damiel part of this strategy, may I ask?"

"Hush up, old man," she smirked, pulling another one of his pawns from the board.

Benjamin watched with a pout as his pieces slowly piled on her side of the table. "_Old, _you say? Why, Maria, that almost _tickles _it's so hurtful. I'll have you know that I can probably best you in the training ring."

"Mm, I'll believe that when I see it. I'm not sure, Benny, there's more grey to you than I remember."

"A lack of sunlight, it must be." She swiped his bishop right from under his nose. "We've had so much rain the past week that I'm not surprised at all. These bones ache from lack of light."

"Mine are the same," she nodded. "I can tell when it's going to rain before a cloud even floats where I can see it."

"I'm sure that's the only way you know when it's going to downpour." Benjamin chuckled to himself when Maria gave him a look that wasn't as amused as his was. He slapped his knee, shaking his head and laughing between breaths. "Oh, come now! I meant it in good humor, Sarah, no need to take offense!"

"If you were a woman, Benjamin, then maybe you'd understand." She rolled her eyes and cleaned the board of his pieces. He scowled and crossed his arms. "And maybe you'd understand my tactics, as well," she added with a smile.

"Bloody girl," he murmured, shifting in his seat unhappily. "Tricking this old sod when you know his age."

"Don't pull that with me, Benjamin Mills. You just said that it was the lack of light."

"And speaking of which," Benjamin said as he stood from his seat, "you've been slacking in your teaching, haven't you? I haven't seen Bayo or Belle in that courtyard for a good few days, my dear. I suspect that your hounds need the exercise, and with the sun out, it's the perfect opportunity." He left without waiting for a reply to find the said dogs.

Maria sighed, leaning back in her chair, fiddling with a pawn between her fingers. She smiled, losing herself in a reverie. The first time she'd ever played chess was in her uncle's estate in Canterbury. England was experiencing one of its brutal winters again, and for a little girl not allowed to go outside due to how freezing it was, pestering someone to occupy her time came naturally.

She remembered how her uncle, finally thinking of a way to keep the complaining children in his house occupied, scooped her up into his arms and sat her on his lap. His wife, Maria's beautiful Emily, sat opposite him with Jonathan Thorpe snuggly wrapped in her arms. Between the two adults was a table with a board of black and white squares.

Oh, how Maria missed those days free of complications and worry. Just being with Uncle Xavier and Aunt Emily made her forget, even if it was temporary, of what prejudices she had to face at her father's manor. She _hated _the ladylike dresses, the tight doublets, and the concealing makeup.

But most of all she hated the beatings. The thought of her father tying her hands above herself, her stomach pressed against the wall, and that blade kissing its way down her back made her blood boil in anger. The scar was still there—still as ugly as it was the day she received it. And all for refusing to follow the norm for women.

She banished the thought from her head. Her aunt and uncle had always been a beacon of light in her dreary childhood. There was always some form of trouble for her and John to find themselves in—be it coating the cats with honey, seeing who could climb the highest in trees and then jumping down, teasing and nagging David—

And oh, David. When through with his chores and other responsibilities, he'd never missed an opportunity to spend his time with his brother and cousin. Always had his nose in a book, too. More than once, Maria and John found themselves snoozing from boredom next to him on the lounge.

But not that night for chess. David was there, sitting in a chair and quietly observing how his parents taught his younger brother and cousin the art of chess. Xavier would laugh at how the children continuously asked questions and how Maria pouted each time one of her pieces left the board. And Emily would tousle John's hair and encourage him to continue playing whenever Maria eliminated one of his pieces.

Emily would sing, too, Maria remembered. The air would be filled with David's chuckles, Xavier's laughing and explaining, and then Emily's melody. _Remembrance, _she believed the song was called.

So lost in her daze that she didn't realize she was humming that familiar tune, or that Damiel had his head turned toward her, his eyes open as he studied her.

He blinked, his face blank as he watched her fingers run over that pawn and listened as she hummed. She hadn't the skill of a bard; her voice would waver each time she reached certain notes high in scale. But it was peaceful and lovely all the same, the low notes she hummed reaching down into his core.

It was familiar and pleasant. _She _was familiar and pleasant. Looking at her now, he couldn't find any trace of battle maiden or rebellious woman inside of her. The hand that still remained on his cheek had callouses and faint scars, though. She _was _rebellious, wasn't she? It sounded right to him, just as this song did.

"Pretty," he murmured, his eyes still resting on her. "_Muy bonita." _And with those words, the singing stopped. Steel-blue met chocolate brown, one pair wide and disbelieving, the other calm and content.

Damiel closed his eyes. "Pretty," he mumbled as he nuzzled her hand. "_Donde..?" _

In the blink of an eye, she was kneeling by the bed, her thumb brushing his cheek. Her mouth felt dry as his eyes bore into hers again. She'd been wondering what she'd say to him since she first saw him. Apologies and explanations swarmed in her mind, and some of them sounded endearing even to her, but different words tumbled out of her mouth.

"You're safe, you little numbskull, you're safe."

A hint of a smile touched his chapped lips as he whispered, "_Gracias." _Then, with his eyes crinkling at the corners, he whispered again, "_Gracias." _His features hardened as he stared into her eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. She held her breath as he reached out with a weak hand. He touched her face, trailing his fingers over her cheek and down her jaw until his middle and forefinger traced ragged skin just behind her ear lobe.

His eyes narrowed, and she could see the effort shining in them. He sighed, clenching his eyes shut as his fingers traced and traced that scar.

"Maria," he nodded, a grin stretching on his lips. "Maria. _Gracias. Shenorhekal em." _

Her hand curled around the one still by her ear. Her shoulders slackened as she let out a breath of air. "Thank God, you stupid boy, thank God." He squeezed her hand, another smile lighting his face up. Both of them turned their heads as Benjamin walked in with Bayo and Belle trotting at his heels.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—" He gasped as Damiel smiled at him, his eyes once again darkening in concentration. The two dogs leapt toward the bed. Maria's glare at them and her raised hand had them sit their behinds down right at the edge of Damiel's cot. They wagged their tails anxiously, whimpering and nudging the boy with their noses.

"Benny," Damiel announced, like a child uttering their first words. Damiel beamed, proud of himself for remembering, and repeated the name. Benjamin looked close to tears.

"Damiel, my boy," he breathed as he stepped closer and placed a hand on the boy's head. "Oh, Maria, what did you do?"

She shrugged, holding the boy's hand in both of hers. "I don't know."

The clouds of uncertainty vanished from Damiel's eyes. He looked back and forth between his friends and cleared his throat. "How long have I—what happened to—" He gasped and frantically looked side to side, groaning as his body protested from the movements. "_Where _is Riva?"

Benjamin urged the boy back to the bed when he tried sitting up. "Relax, Damiel, you aren't going anywhere for quite a while. You've been unconscious for some time now."

"_Donde, donde! _Where's Riva? What happened to her? Why isn't she here?" His lip trembled as he searched Benjamin's and Maria's eyes for answers. His skittering eyes clouded over with that touch of insanity again, and his face seemed to contort as if a nightmare was racing through his mind.

"We don't know—"

"Don't _know?" _he bawled, glaring at Maria as if she committed a sin. "But she—"

"Calm down, young man," Benjamin warned, keeping his hand firm on the boy's shoulder. "Fretting over it won't do you any good. Besides, you need rest."

"He's right," Maria added when Damiel struggled under his grip. She brushed a few locks of hair from his forehead. He immediately settled down from the tender touch. "You need to rest, Damiel. Benjamin and I aren't going anywhere; we're staying right here until you recover. Understood?"

He sighed, his head falling back into the soft cushions behind him. He managed to nod his head before his eyes drooped closed in exhaustion.

"At least we know there's some Damiel left in him," Maria mused with a sad smile. "I thought that he'd… that he'd…" She curled her lips into her mouth and let Benjamin wrap an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, "I thought we lost him, Benny. I thought that he was _gone." _

He nodded and rubbed her back. "I know, my dear, I know. I felt the same. But perhaps you shouldn't have told him that you'd stay by his side."

Maria pulled away from him and tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're wanted down in the study," he remarked with a shrug. "Apparently, your Assassin and his… well, they're planning something in there, and _someone _should represent the Rose. Hildegard's been too spirited lately—I'll have to confront her about that—and Olivia's busy tending to Zaina. The poor girl's had the life scared out of her from her brother."

"Aden?" Maria gawked. "Aden hurt his darling little sister? Preposterous."

Benjamin shook his head. "The man's been reduced to a pile of hummus, and I have reason to believe that that's what's fueling Hildegard's bouncy mood."

"And you can't represent the Rose because..?"

Benjamin sighed and crossed his arms. "Don't give me that look, young lady. It's high time you start taking responsibility—"

"I _am _taking responsibility, Benny. I think I've been handling myself well the past couple of weeks."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Hurling on the Grandmaster? Does that sound acceptable to you?"

She grumbled and scrunched her nose at him.

"But as for me, I'll watch over Damiel and keep everyone else in sound minds. Now, off you go, Maria," he chortled as he took Maria's former seat, Bayo and Belle wagging their tails obliviously at her. She snarled at the dogs, shooting Benjamin a deadly glower, and then stomped out of the infirmary.

Maria climbed the stairwells to the Master's study. She chewed in her mind over what Benjamin said to her, wishing that she spat some defiant retorts at him before agreeing to be the Rose's representative. God's slippers, she should have sent Bayo and Belle to represent them.

She snickered from the thought and quickly wiped her face clean of any mischief as she entered the study. Altair and Malik hardly spared a glance at her as they fussed over several pieces of parchment on the table.

"Today is a victorious day for Masyaf," Malik said as Maria sidled up beside the two men. "We've gained some information from that traitor, at long last."

She nodded and briefly skimmed over the papers. She frowned from what she read. "And what do these bills and names of merchants have to do with what Mashhur said?"

"Malik exaggerated," Altair offered. She stole a glimpse of him, stern and worried lines marring his face, before he could make eye contact.

"Exaggeration and optimism are two completely different things," Malik smirked from his place.

Altair rolled his eyes before continuing, "It appears that Damascus isn't fully purged of Templars."

"Not the bloody caravans again," Maria groaned, giving Altair a challenging glare. If he planned on dragging her with him back to those caravans, she'd sooner drown in the wastepit.

"No, this is far more serious than a few caravans. Mashhur revealed Templar activity in Damascus. Merchants from across the Mediterranean have traveled to Damas under invitation from the merchants Bashshar and Ahmed Ibn-Dhakir."

"It could very well be just a harmless convention," Malik supplied. "But why so sudden? And why gather at Damascus when the Templar, Clarence, is making the Palace his new home, sweet home?"

Maria bit her bottom lip, the three names familiar to her. "Clarence we know of," she nodded, "but the other two—the merchants—I've briefly heard of from an inn near Damascus. So, say that this is a Templar plot. What's to gain from all these men coming together?"

"Unity, coin, power, an alliance against _us,_" Altair said as he leafed through the papers. "Their plan isn't solid, as merchants tend to keep their valuables close, preferring to hide their good names and families from any form of corruption, but even if a few side with the Templars, the Assassins will be at a disadvantage."

"And your plan?" she asked. "Are you to kill all the merchants? Even if you manage to slay Clarence, his ideas will still live on. He's probably been in Damascus for a week at least and has already held meetings with these men."

"Which is why this is a delicate matter," Malik smiled, his hand behind his back. "Killing Clarence will only result in chaos and outbreaks of confusion. You're right, Maria, we need to handle this differently than the usual assassination."

Maria crossed her arms and bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you suggesting we disguise ourselves and preach to the merchants that aligning with the Templars would have Satan at their doorstep?" When both men exchanged bashful looks, she closed her eyes and blew out of her mouth. "Oh, you're bloody jesting with me—_tell _me I'm wrong."

"Well," Malik began, waiting for Altair to offer support. "That's part of the plan, but not all of it."

"If we infiltrate our way into Bashshar's and Ahmed's circle, we may be able to learn more information dealing with the Templars—where they are, how much influence they have. We may not be able to eliminate Clarence from the picture, but there is the possibility of erasing his comrades."

"Just who, exactly, is _we, _Assassin?" Maria demanded. Altair opened his mouth to speak, but Malik beat him to it.

"Does it surprise you that I've elected the both of you to handle this?" Malik announced, trying hard to keep the smile off his lips. "I've found that you two are quite successful as partners."

She wasn't sure who to despise more at the moment: Malik, trying to hide his mirth, or Altair looking completely smug with the selection. She glared at both of them, feeling the hair on her neck rise, and growled, "Well-thought plan, Malik, but you seem to be forgetting something. Women aren't allowed the opportunity to be traders, and I don't think you'd want to risk me disguising myself as a man."

"That is true," Malik smiled, "but I never said you were going to be another merchant."

"Then _what—" _Maria stopped as her eyes shot open wide. She gaped at Altair, her nails threatening to break through the skin on her palms. "_Oh, no, _I am _not _going to act the part of your helpless, adoring, goody-two-shoed _wife." _

"We were settling on 'supporting wife'," Malik shrugged.

Maria blew out of her nose and said in a steady voice, "I suggest that you choose Hildegard instead. She's better equipped at acting like a lady better than I am, anyway. Besides, she's much better at feigning adoration."

"Hildegard has light hair," Altair countered, shaking his head, "there'd be no way to mask her as an Arab."

"And you think it'd be possible to mask _me _as an Arab?"

Altair nodded. "I've heard you fake an accent before, Maria, and it's passible."

She grabbed his arm and rolled both of their sleeves up. "And how do you suppose hiding the differences in our skin tone?"

"A tan should easily fix that," Malik added. She turned and stared Death into him. "And not all Arabs are dark."

"I don't tan," she bit out between clenched teeth, "I _burn." _

Malik waved his hand. "Then it is decided. You two will leave for Damas in two days. I've already asked our tailors to find suitable clothing for both of you, since you will be playing the roles of the wealthy. And I've also taken the liberty, Maria, to request Hildegard better your appearance for this mission."

Maria's face turned read and her mouth hung open wide. "My _appearance?" _

Malik nodded absently, then turned to Altair. "While you are gone, I will make sure that Mashhur's interrogation continues, and if there is anything new learned—"

"Send the letters to the Rafik," Altair finished. "I cannot promise how often I will be able to pay the Bureau a visit, but I will try to frequent them as much as possible. If you can, send a few novices in disguise to Damascus as well—let them ride for the city tonight. I believe the less contact I have with our Brothers while in disguise, the better."

Maria whirled out of the study, not interested in hearing the two men converse further. She marched down the stairs, fuming and wanting to hit something.

And that's exactly what she did when she was out of sight of those Assassins. She slammed her boot against the wall, ignoring the throbbing in her foot, and carried on through the fortress. There were murmurs from several novices regarding the Human Volcano, and she did her best to ignore their whispers.

She only burnt a few of them to a crisp.

Somehow, seeing Hildegard standing in front of her quarters, wearing a smile big enough for five families, made her temper triple.

"_Get. Out. Of. My. Way." _

Hildegard laughed and raised a hand in mock offense. "Oh, dear me, dear me! Why so upset, Maria? Oh, wait, don't tell me. Did Bayo drool in your food again? No? Is it your monthly bleeding? Oh, poor dear. I happen to have a remedy to dull the pain, though—"

"You know _exactly _what the situation is, you traitor," Maria snarled. Hildegard smiled.

"Could it be that you've been chosen to escort that handsome Assassin—the one with the treasure trail, remember?—to Damascus? Oh, how I envy you, Maria! Women would die and flop at your feet just to have that opportunity! Why, I believe I saw some ready to jump from the fortress just a few moments ago," she drawled.

"This is clearly harassment, Hildegard—"

"But enough of this idle chit-chat!" Hildegard's face twisted in a suspicious, mischievous little grin. "Come, Maria!" Yanking her by the arm, Hildegard raced through the fortress, taking the turns at a dangerous speed, and soon arrived at the Grandmaster's bath.

"But this is—" Maria panted between breaths.

"Oh, silly dear, don't you know better than to keep your mouth open like that? You'll catch flies and start drooling," Hildegard chuckled as she stripped Maria of her clothes and dumped her in the already-prepared bath. "And stop looking like a wild animal, Maria. He's given me permission to use his bath, no need to fret your pretty face about that."

"Oh, I'll _give _you a pretty face—" Maria sucked in a breath before Hildegard dunked her head under the water. Finally, she resurfaced and spat at the blonde woman. "I _swear _to God, Hildegard—"

"Now, Maria," Hildegard sighed as she smothered her friend's head with creams and oils, "is there really a point in all this bickering? Be true to yourself, would you? You know that there's no changing his mind, so why bother with the pouts and huffs?"

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm having plots conspiring against me. This is all planned out, believe me when I say it! And I have _very _good reason to believe that you have a hand in this, Hildegard."

Hildegard guffawed and dunked Maria's head back under water. "Now, dear, you have your rights to suspect as much as you wish," Hildegard lilted as Maria's head popped back up, "but if you don't have any proof, well, that's all you'll ever be able to do! Just suspect and keep assuming, but I should warn you that to assume makes an arse not only out of you, but out of me, as well."

Maria groaned, knowing that Hildegard was right. Dealing with those two Assassins was already an attempt in vain, but dealing with Hildegard? She knew she lost before the battle even began.

* * *

And it was all becoming too much.

Hildegard relentlessly pampered Maria, scrubbing her down with never-before-seen ardor. Then came the pumice stone scraping and rubbing away all the callouses on her hands and feet.

Maria didn't try to be enthusiastic about any of Hildegard's treatments; the other woman had enough enthusiasm to fill Masyaf and the neighboring cities.

Maria collapsed in bed that night, her hands and feet raw from that damn pumice stone. She would have liked to scrape away at Hildegard's face—or better yet, Altair's and Malik's face—with that blasted rock. Her dreams satisfied that fantasy, though.

But then came the tan. Having refused to lie bare _anywhere _in Masyaf's walls, Maria agreed, albeit reluctantly, to Hildegard's alternative solution. Lying in the sands surrounding the mountain, Maria sighed, contented that she was far away from the prying eyes of juvenile boys and the desirous gazes of the older Assassin's.

Especially _that man's _gaze.

Maria, with her eyes closed, listened to Hildegard babble from beside herself. She hummed in response to Hildegard's prattles, just enjoying the warmth from the grainy sand underneath herself and from the sun bearing down on her.

"So, how is it, Maria? Do you feel the tan yet?"

"I feel like a scrambled egg," Maria hissed. Hildegard flicked a wrist and clicked her tongue in amusement.

"I didn't want to agree to it," Hildegard confessed after a long moment of silence. "But Malik has a way of getting what he wants from people. Unfortunately, I do not have an immunity to his persuasions."

Maria cracked open a suspicious eye. "Oh? And what persuasions are these?" She chuckled when Hildegard swatted sand at her.

"Don't give me that, Maria—you should really consider removing your mind from the hay. Can't be good for your health, I presume."

Maria grunted and curled her fingers around a clump of sand. "You've always been talented at shielding yourself from men, Hildegard. You don't have a reason to worry."

"Hmm," she mused, "I suppose you're right. Then I must worry about your immunity, Maria, since there isn't anything better to occupy myself with! Oh my, oh my! How long is this mission going to take you, anyway?"

Maria huffed and puckered her lips in thought. "They never said. Maybe a month, maybe two months."

Hildegard bobbed her head up and down, delighted by the news. "Splendid, splendid! Absolutely sublime! Two months is perfect, Maria. You should feel ecstatic! Just think of the progress you two would make with that much time—and better yet!—while being husband and wife! And you _know _what husbands and wives do together."

Maria scowled and scooted away from Hildegard. "And I'm the one in the hay, am I? Hildegard, you're absolutely repulsive, did you know that?"

"Repulsive? Oh, I have no problem with that. Repelling? I think not!" She inched back over to Maria and smiled down at the woman. "And I'm not in the hay, Maria. My mind is in the sheets, twisting and turning and dancing—"

Maria rolled her eyes. "I'm impressed by your preferences. Utterly speechless."

"Why, are the kisses being planted up your neck? Tender man-kisses on jaws and necks tend to make a woman forget the usage of her tongue, dearie."

Maria closed her eyes, thankful that Hildegard was too busy blabbing on and on to notice her blush.

"Oh, but _brutish _man-kisses! Oh, those are the worst. There's a fine line between brutish and dominating, Maria, don't ever forget that. Brutish is holding a woman down and forcing himself on her. Dominating is nipping and caressing a woman, giving her the choice to either resist or submit, and of course she submits if he's dominating. Maria, we need to have serious feminine talks one of these days. Oh! I can feel myself wrinkling from not having anyone to talk to about intimacy."

"I leave tomorrow, though—"

"Yes, that's right! Tomorrow, off you go, into Damascus with your handsome husband, having the opportunity to do—oh, I shouldn't say—when Hildegard isn't there to chaperone and monitor your hormone levels. As the saying goes: when the cat is away, the mice will play!"

"Just promise me something," Maria said before Hildegard had a chance to continue chatting.

"As long as you promise _me _something."

"Deal. Promise me you'll watch and be there for Damiel."

Hildegard nodded, holding her head high. "Of course, dear, of course! That's hardly even a promise to make; I was going to do that whether or not you asked it of me! Since you'll be dispatched, I need _someone _to talk to, you know. Damiel is an ideal candidate. But now for your favor."

"Ask it, then."

"Promise me you'll let me know every detail of those lonely, cold nights in Damascus with your heat-radiating husband not a foot away from you, his eyes gleaming with masculine desire as his body—specifically the region between his legs—senses the presence of a female—that female being specifically you—and decides to finally lay claim to what is rightfully his."

* * *

Translations:

Arabic:

_Sharmuta: _whore/slut/prostitute

_Tal has tizee: _Kiss my ass.

_Kus umek, kelb: _Your mother's vagina, dog.

Spanish:

_Muy bonita: _very pretty

_Donde: _where?

_Gracias: _Thank you

Armenian:

_Shenorhekal em: _Thank you


	30. Chapter 24

**Not much to say here :D Other than enjoy and let me know what you think!**

**All original characters belong to Ubisoft. Everyone else is mine.**

* * *

"I-I look…" Maria struggled to find a word that appropriated what she was wearing. With only candles lighting the infirmary, she couldn't tell if she liked the colors of the clothes Hildegard had forced her in.

"You look feminine," Hildegard laughed as she tugged here and there on the gown Maria wore.

"My thoughts were similar to 'ridiculous' and 'foppish'. But, I suppose that's one way to put it," Maria sighed. She stared at herself in the mirror, not believing what she saw, and not once recognizing the woman looking back at her. "That can't be me," she moaned.

Hildegard hummed and ran her fingers through Maria's hair. "Oh, yes it can too be you. Why would you think otherwise, Maria? You're a very beautiful woman; you just hide it with a snarl and caked on sweat all the time. But look at you." Hildegard turned Maria's head back toward the mirror.

And Hildegard, for once, was _right. _The woman staring back at Maria had long, dark curly hair that almost reached her elbows. Eyes, outlined with black powder—she believed Hildegard called it _kohl—_blinked back at her.

"Even if the tan didn't go according to plan," Hildegard mused, recalling how only certain places on Maria's body actually tanned (while the rest burned), "no matter! You still look as radiant as ever. In fact, I must say I'm fairly jealous that no one bothered to buy _me _these silks. Oh, what do you call this dress again? A jelly biscuit?"

"_Jalabiya," _Damiel corrected from his spot on the bed. For some reason or another, the two women had decided to turn the infirmary into a dressing room without any complaint from Damiel. After all, the boy had a most pleasant wakeup call when he peeked his eyes open to see Maria partly nude. Lucky for him, the two women thought he was still sound asleep.

If only they knew.

"Ah, yes, forgive me. I could really go for a jelly biscuit, though. Feels like years since I last had one," Hildegard moped. "Oh, listen to me, prattling on and on about cuisine when there's work to be done!" She bustled away from Maria, fussing over another garment.

Maria contemplated what she was wearing. While it was nowhere near revealing, as was an honest man's honest wife's custom, she thought the color to be provocative. Red suited Hildegard far more than it did her. Especially deep reds like the one she was wearing, but she hardly had a say in the matter. Patterns threaded in gold and black ran across the bust and skirt. She sighed, wishing she was wearing something blue instead.

She could tell from the envious glint in Hildegard's eyes that she thought the same.

She came back, carrying a long, golden, silk cloth in her hands. "Now, I believe this is somewhat like a shawl, though I forget the fancy term for it. Either way, you have to wear it."

"It's a _hijab_ wrap," Damiel sighed. His head still spun with confusion—just _how _did he end up here in all places? And where _was _here, anyways?—and his eyes were heavy with need of sleep. Though he wanted answers more than anything, some part of his foggy brain knew that he was in no condition to deal with the responses he'd earn. On top of wanting explanations, he wished his body wouldn't scream in protest from every small movement he made. He'd tried coaxing Maria and Hildegard to giving him more medicine to dull the pain, but to his dismay, the two women shook their heads and refused his request.

Damiel supposed that women had a better understanding of medicine than men; he'd probably overdose to the point where he'd numb his brain. Then he'd _really _be a numbskull. Blowing his lips out in frustration from being a useless, aching lump, he decided to keep quiet and to observe, or as Maria would put it, _sit down, shut up, and listen. _

He watched as Hildegard wrapped the silk around Maria, tucking her groomed hair here and there in the headdress. From what he gathered, Maria was leaving. Where she was leaving from and where her destination was, he was still trying to figure out.

"_Oye," _he coughed. "Turn around so I can see, _por favor." _

Maria slowly spun around. He smiled, trying to reassure her and have her stop slouching her shoulders like that. She was beautiful, he had to admit, but she didn't look like Maria. She looked like some divine seraph sent to lure men into their seductive, sadistic clutches. And oh, what a paradox Maria was!

If it wasn't Maria, he'd probably be slurping drool back up and tripping over his own feet just to know her name.

"_Bonita," _he grinned. "_Muy bonita." _

She scowled and picked at the _hijab. _"I don't understand why I have to keep my hair covered, though. This is bound to itch my neck and make me feel as if I'm roasting in an oven."

"Some form of cultural custom, I believe," Hildegard yawned. "Don't fret about it; it'll help conceal your identity, won't it?"

Maria grudgingly nodded in agreement. "I suppose you have a point. I just feel like a foreigner in my own body." She stared at the mirror again, and stated with a blank face, "I look like I'm wearing a rug."

"A very cute rug," Hildegard smiled.

"You could always take the clothes off," Damiel suggested. He shrank under his covers when Maria threatened to burn a hole through him. "It was only an idea," he murmured from under the blankets.

"An idea that you'd best keep to yourself," Maria hissed back.

The infirmary door swung open as Benjamin invited himself in. "The horses are saddled and ready to—blessed Mary and Joseph!" His eyes almost popped out of his sockets when Maria turned to him. She looked ready to explode.

"Tell the truth, Benjamin Mills. I look like a pansy, don't I?"

Hildegard scoffed and shushed Maria with a wave of her hand. "Don't lie just to agree with her, Benjamin Mills. Yes, do tell the truth. She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" She eyed the _jalabiya, _wondering how much pestering Malik would need to escort her on another shopping spree.

Benjamin's lips flapped together as he stuttered. "W-well, I-I, y-you, oh, for heaven's sake! Maria, you look absolutely stunning, my dear!" He held her hands in his and seemed to swell with pride. "What did I say, Hildegard? I have two beautiful daughters, that's what I said!" He puffed his chest out, his eyes closed and a smug, paternal grin on his face. "Heartbreakers are what you two are."

Damiel popped his head out from the covers and grumbled. "Care to know what _else _is breaking? My arms, my legs, even my toes!"

"Oh, you hush up," Hildegard pouted as she floated over to him. "You look adorable, too. I must say, you pull off the mummy look nicely, Damiel. Can you name anyone else who wears bandages with such poise and grace?"

"Hysterical, Hildegard, hysterical," he muttered.

"And _I _must say," Benjamin cut in, "that if you don't stop with this meaningless chit-chat, you'll never leave this fortress. Now, Maria dear, if you're ready, then come along."

"Just one more moment, Benjamin lad." Hildegard scuttled over to a small box and pulled out necklaces and bracelets adorned with fine jewels. "She needs a few more things to look the part, don't you agree?"

Maria felt her insides boil as Hildegard forced the bangles and pendants on her, even attaching some to her headdress. She never minded jewelry—in a small sum, of course—but wearing all these gaudy, clinky things reminded her of a whore.

_Has the Assassin's _sharmuta _decided to lavish her attentions on me?_

Her teeth clenched together from remembering Mashhur's taunt. She told herself that no, the woman staring back at her in the mirror was no whore or _sharmuta _or whatever the word for it was.

It was a woman forced to be someone she wasn't.

Maria sighed. She'd need therapy after this, she knew it.

Benjamin shrugged from the jewelry. "If you insist, Hildegard. I thought she looked splendid without them, but I'm sure women have more of an understanding of fashion."

"That we do, Benny, that we do," Hildegard lilted.

"But you'll come back, _sí?" _Damiel shifted on the bed so that he was sitting up. He stared into Maria's eyes, a small frown gradually pulling his lips down. "You'll be back, yes?"

Maria smiled and held Damiel's hand when he reached for her. "Of course I will, you oaf."

"I can count on it?"

She nodded. "You can count on it, Damiel. I promise." She gave his hand a final squeeze before following Benjamin out of the infirmary.

Maria walked side-by-side with Benjamin, occasionally shooting him curious glances. The corners of the man's mouth were twitching and his eyes were misty. She exhaled and tugged on his arm.

"Whatever it is, Benjamin, you'd best be out with it before I force it out."

He blinked away tears and covered his mouth with his free hand. "You just have no idea, Sarah, how much you look like Emily." He cupped her cheek and smiled, his lips quivering. "You make this old man proud, Sarah. You make her proud, too."

Maria knuckled his shoulder and returned his grin. "Would she really approve of this, though?" she motioned to her attire. "I thought she despised dresses almost as much as I do."

Benjamin chortled and shook his head, his eyes bright with memories. "Oh, yes, she did. But she'd be proud knowing you'd put up with that confining fabric for the greater good. She'd be proud." He linked Maria's arm in his and continued walking. He thought she couldn't see the tears falling down his face.

The marketplace was just coming to life as they neared the gates. Merchants were setting up their stalls and making small talk with one another, waiting for the crowds to leave their homes. Maria's stomach dropped as she saw what the wife's duty was: stand, smile, and pretend to be thrilled to be by their husband's side while he sold wares. She had half a mind to hike her way back up to the fortress and disguise Hildegard in her ridiculous clothes.

But _no, _Hildegard's hair _had _to be blonde. The woman had been plotting against her even in the womb!

Stopping just at the gates, Benjamin placed both hands on Maria's shoulders. "Now, you listen to me, Maria. I know being docile and submissive isn't part of your everyday routine, but for the Rose's sake, please, _please _don't do anything out of character that may alert anyone of who you and the Grandmaster really are."

Maria nodded, her head turned away from Benjamin. He clicked his tongue and tilted her chin so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. "There's just one more thing, my dear." He glanced to and fro, then leaned his mouth toward her ear. "A little bird told me you and Hildegard made a pact yesterday—don't ask me how I know. But promise me something."

"Anything, Benny, just say it."

Benjamin smirked and whispered, "You give that man Hell, Maria," before placing a quick kiss on her forehead. "Now," he grunted, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing toward the gate, "off you go."

Maria smiled and patted Benjamin's arm, then walked toward the small cluster outside the gates. It took every bit of willpower not to laugh at the sight in front of her.

Shihad stamped his hooves and nipped at Altair's hand. The man smiled and continued to tease the poor horse by hiding a carrot in his palm. Shihad's lips smacked against the man's fingers, trying to pry them apart to gobble up the vegetable.

Maria nodded at the three novices off to the side. They murmured greetings and inclined their heads while trying to hold back their giggles for the same reason Maria was. She glanced at Altair, who was now pacing back and forth around Shihad, earning more annoyed snorts and small whinnies from the horse. Maria rolled her eyes and gave the boys a smirk. One chuckled, the other shuffled, and the last one raised his chin and returned Maria's expression.

"Why don't you just give the poor beast his treat," Maria offered as she walked toward Altair. "I think he deserves it, no?" She patted Shihad's side and leaned back to see Altair staring at her next to Shihad's head. Unlike the Templars at the caravans raking their eyes across her form, trying to mentally disrobe her, his gaze didn't unsettle her in the slightest. It resembled a man passing by in the marketplace, his eye caught on an item that he'd think his wife would appreciate, and dare she admit it, she _did _appreciate how he was looking at her new clothes.

She quirked a brow and followed suit in his examination. He wore the same grey sirwals of his regular Assassin attire, though this pair had obviously been scrubbed down and had any tears or holes mended to perfection. His boots were of a different design and polished to shine even in the dark. He wore a dark blue tunic (that immediately brought envy to her) embroidered with gold around the collar and, she guessed, at the sleeves. She couldn't say for sure, as he also wore a regal-looking coat the same color as his tunic with fur trimmings.

To top it all off, a white turban wrapped itself around his head.

"And who are you to suggest such a thing?" His endearing expression vanished in half a moment, and the new one replacing it was not one of disgust or anger, but rather of disapproval for her even asking.

She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, taken aback by his question. "Excuse me—"

"Why should I consider your words? A man knows his property best, and as the wife, she should stay her tongue and be a quiet little piece of property."

Maria's eyes flared and flashed from his words. Her entire body tightened from anger as her fist shook violently at her side. Shihad gave a nervous whicker as she made to sling her fist at the man.

He, however, sighed and removed the berating expression from his face. "There is no reason to take offense—"

"Take _offense?" _she spat.

"It was practice, Maria," he explained as he soothed Shihad by finally giving him the carrot. "If you're to be a wealthy merchant's wife, you'll need to learn how to respond to your environment correctly without rousing suspicion."

She looked back and forth between her fist, her frustration toward him slowly depleting as she admitted to herself that what he said was true. Still, she contemplated slugging him one. Ultimately, she decided that that was for another time—specifically when they were done with this ridiculous mission—and let her fist fall back to her side.

'_For Satan's Hell,' _she thought, '_just who am I trying to jest? My frustration toward this man has no limits.' _Maria crossed her arms and frowned.

"And that," Altair continued, gesturing toward her with a wave of his hand, "is exactly what I mean. Your body language cannot be so rebellious—"

"Rebellious? To who?"

"To Ghalib."

"Ghalib?"

"Your husband," Altair said. He noted her brow twitching and hurried to try to salvage their conversation. "We must use aliases, Maria. I'm playing the part of Ghalib, and you will be Saraj, my wife."

"Hn," she grunted. She turned toward Shihad and twisted her fingers in his mane. "_Wife," _she hissed in a whisper. "So, you are a man, and I am a wife."

He blinked, then replied with a cautious voice, "Yes, that's what we are to complete this mission."

"Man and wife," she mused as she pet the horse. "You never hear 'husband and wife', now do you? Oh, no, it's _always _'man and wife'. This is why I didn't stay married." She bit her lip and stepped away from Shihad as Mustafa, Rakin, and Nabil made the final preparations to the saddlebags.

With the boys occupied with the gear, Altair moved to stand behind Maria—not that he _wouldn't _approach her if the boys decided to watch. He cleared his throat. "You know that you are still Maria to me," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

She pursed her lips and turned to face him. "Buried beneath the wealthy merchant bravado, I'm sure," she snorted. "Don't worry yourself over my feelings, _husband. _As your _wife, _I will retain what little dignity I possess while serving my husband's every frivolous need." She offered a brief, curt smile before moving past him toward the saddle. She stood with her head inclined and waited for him to climb into the saddle.

She certainly wasn't expecting him to pick her up and lift her onto Shihad's back before he hauled himself up behind her. He squeezed her hips, and she swiveled her head around. She opened her mouth to retort, but the soft, apologetic look in his eyes made her clamp her mouth shut. She scanned his face, seeing that he wore that rare, genuine self that was purely Altair, the man, and _not _Altair the Assassin. It was very subtle, but she could just make it out in the dark: one corner of his lips turned upward in the smallest degree, his bottom lip not jutting into the upper one in deep thought, and his forehead not crinkled in irritation or dominance.

She peered closer at his forehead, her eyes squinting then practically bulging out of their sockets. Maria peeled back his turban just enough to expose a bit of the top of his head. She bit her bottom lip as she stated with complete incredulousness, "You're bald."

"No," he shook his head, "I assure you I'm _not _bald."

"Where is it then?"

"I shaved it off with a knife."

"I want to ask why, but then again, I'm questioning your sanity."

He shrugged. "It's part of the guise, Maria."

"Should I have shaved my own head, then? Since I'm your wife, I should match my husband, yes?"

He smirked and snapped the reins, sending Shihad into a light gallop. "No, Saraj. You misunderstand, as is usual for the female mind. You are _unequal _to me, wife. You will never match your husband in any aspect."

She harrumphed and faced forward in her saddle, crossing her arms in stubborn indignation. "I hope you aren't expecting me to just take what you say and leave it at that. Mark my words, this won't be a picnic for you, _husband." _

* * *

Just the ride to Damascus was troublesome. Saraj would coax her husband with whimpers and complaints to pull the horse over.

She had to _pee, _she'd say.

She needed _water, _she'd say, and then an hour later, she'd have to pee _again. _

She needed shade to rest under after baking in the sun for a few hours.

She wanted to trade seats in the saddle ever so often.

And Ghalib would clench his jaw, jerk his head in a nod with one mechanical movement, and comply with her requests. And then ignore her for the remainder of the day—until she had another dire need to see to immediately.

He suffered this torment for three days.

* * *

Shihad clip-clopped through the canyon that led to Damascus. Maria sighed in her spot behind Altair, knowing that soon her freedom of speech and action was to become very limited _very _soon.

She could hear the hustle and bustle of the outer marketplace before she caught sight of the city. Even with night falling, the city still seemed to be teeming with life. The echoes of _ouds, darbukas, _and _zumaras_ resounded about the canyon.

And then they saw it. Glorious Damascus, standing straight and tall like a king observing his subjects. Altair pulled Shihad to a stop as they stood at the top of the winding slope leading to the marketplace.

"Remember what I said," he said to Maria.

She nodded. "I'll remember to keep my tongue in a knot, _husband."_

"And not just that."

"Oh?"

He clenched his hand around the one that was resting on his waist. "Remember that you will always be Maria to me." He didn't offer her a chance to reply, as he let her hand go and dug his heels into Shihad's sides.

The gates of Damascus even crawled with life. Saraj watched the commotion through her headdress with squinted eyes, glancing to and fro between the people scurrying back and forth to market stalls and her companion. He held his head high and shoulders square, not once bouncing in the saddle as he imitated the air of a monarch. Saraj, though, jostled up and down on Shihad's rump. Wisps of her hair peeked out from her _hijab. _She knew that if she so much as removed one arm locked around Ghalib's waist that she'd fall on her bottom—_damn _that man!

If Ghalib noticed Saraj's predicament, he paid no attention to his meek, loving, and obedient wife. After all, as a man, he certainly didn't want any part in a _woman's _problem; Allah shame her for distracting herself from her all-powerful husband, and shame her even more for wearing that pout!

Shihad's hooves thudded against the sandy ground as he meandered through the crowd. He snorted and tossed his head high in the air. Even the horse carried more dignity than Saraj.

Buyers parted and formed a walkway for the horse and his riders as they neared the gate. Ghalib leapt off the saddle in one fluid movement, his outer robe seeming to move with him. He glanced about himself, indifferent to the stares and murmurs coming from the crowd. He turned back to his wife, and held his hand out for her. Saraj glared at him and held down the urge to roll her eyes when he shot her a warning. She accepted his hand and slid out of the saddle. As soon as her slippered feet hit the ground, he let go of her hand—as if he had just grasped a rattlesnake by the tail—and carried himself into the gates. With just one curt jerk of his head, a stable boy came running to tend to Shihad.

Saraj gave the horse one last pat to his forehead before he was led away. Turning, she saw her husband waiting at the gate with his back turned toward her. She flared her nostrils when she realized he was waiting for _her, _his ever-doting and clumsy wife.

Scurrying toward him, she kept her head bowed, feeling the eyes of the crowd burning into her back. He clicked his tongue as she sidled up next to him. She paused for a moment, not comprehending the irritation plastered on his face. He _tsked _again and walked into the city. The guards patrolling the gate either smirked or scowled at her behavior. Saraj curled her toes inside her slippers as she corrected her stroll, making sure to walk along Ghalib's side, but a few paces behind him.

As they made their way through the Poor District of Damascus, Ghalib moved closer to his wife. He sent glares toward any man that dared to eye her, yet he did not put a possessive arm around her or even hold her hand. Saraj could feel her heart throb painfully in her chest.

The stalls inside the Poor District couldn't even compare to the stalls outside the city. It was a horrible hoax, Saraj noted. The Poor District buildings crumbled from negligence and disrepair. Beggars and peasants filled the streets. Saraj and her husband stood out like two sore thumbs, what with their extravagant clothes noticeable amongst the sea of dull browns and yellows.

Prior to their 'marriage', Saraj knew her husband to despise the effects the wealthy had on the general populace; he _hated _how one party thrived while the other suffered and was forced to survive life with the least resources. But the man beside her was a complete and total stranger. All Saraj could see was Ghalib the merchant, a wealthy man with matters more important than the common rabble on his mind.

It was remarkable how the scenery changed when they passed through the Poor District. Damascus' citizens wore respectable garments that weren't tattered. The streets were so crowded that the two of them had to squeeze their way past the mobs. Ghalib led his wife over one of the bridges connecting Damas' different halves, careful that no pickpocket or thug tried anything with them. Unconcerned with her husband's worries, Saraj looked up in utter awe at the structures before her.

"Umayyad Mosque," Ghalib murmured from the corner of his mouth.

"Remarkable," Saraj breathed out. She stared at the mosque. It resembled a plaza, with four corners making it into a rectangle. Two corners had viewpoints that seemed to touch the sky, and the side opposite the entrance had one viewpoint directly in the middle. She shook her head, not able to grasp how Man could have built such an extraordinary building. With the mosque behind her, she looked over her shoulder, still admiring it. Ghalib had to elbow her side to make her face forward again.

She turned her head to the right and looked over her husband's shoulder at the cacophony near a long dome-shaped building. "What is—"

"Souk Saruja," he explained, "Damascus' greatest marketplace yet."

"I suppose we can't take a look?"

He was quiet for a moment, the mask of Ghalib faltering for just a few seconds. "Later," he promised. "When our business is finished."

Maria smiled and settled her gaze on him, but frowned from what she saw. He was once again taking on the persona of Ghalib, uncaring for the excitement and commotions around him. Saraj sighed and lowered her eyes.

What was formerly the Merchant King's palace came into view. Saraj swallowed a lump in her throat as her husband walked through the Palace's entrance. Vines climbed up the pillars on either side of the entryway, and pots containing flowers and other exotic plants lined the perimeter. She'd been in the Palace before while under Robert's command, but she'd never taken the time to admire the courtyard. A fountain of a woman exposing the curves of the upper portion of her body stood, a jar held above her head with one arm.

Water flowed through the vase into a pool surrounding her plinth. Saraj lost herself in the water, mesmerized by it as if she was a vintner surveying wine. She was pulled from her reverie by the myriad of multiple languages cascading throughout the courtyard.

Merchants. _Everywhere._ From different lands and customs, different clothes and different tongues. Saraj willed her feet to stay rooted to the spot so that she could take in her surroundings, but Ghalib confidently ventured further into the Palace. She followed him obediently.

She swiveled her head side to side, glancing at the small clusters of people, curious as to what their home countries were. Not only did she notice the different cultures, but she noticed the lack of wives.

Ghalib noticed her curiosity and stomped down on it by giving a swift tug to her wrist. She scowled and kept her head straight.

After passing the merchants, Ghalib and Saraj climbed a flight of stairs to the second level of the Palace. He pushed open the doors to step into a room filled with _more _merchants. Saraj smiled while her husband blew out of his nostrils. The room was a long corridor, as if it was the Great Hall of King Richard the Lionheart of England's castle—though she'd never been in his palace—with tables and stands of food and heirlooms set up on either side of the chamber.

At the far end of the hall were two figures overlooking their guests. One of them was the biggest man Saraj had ever seen—bigger than Abu'l Nuqoud—while the other was slim and trim. Ghalib spotted them just as she did, smirked from the corner of his lips, and strode over to them, Saraj having no choice but to follow at his heels.

Ghalib bent one arm around his torso and bowed his head in greeting, mindful of the calculating and uncertain looks the two merchants gave him and his wife. "_As-salam alaykum." _Saraj clasped her hands in front of her and bowed as well.

"_Salam," _the smaller man said. He had between thirty and forty years to him, that much Ghalib could tell, and had probably closer to forty years on his shoulders. His dark hair was pulled back from his hairline; the man had already begun balding.

He glanced to the bigger man, their confusion evident in their faces. "My brother and I wish to know who you are, and why you are here, if it is no trouble, of course."

Ghalib nodded his head and stood from his bow. "Forgive me for the intrusion, good men. I am Ghalib ibn-Jibril, and this—" he didn't even bother himself by looking at her—"is my wife, Saraj bint-Mikhail."

The brothers murmured their greetings and nodded toward Saraj. The bigger one stared at her.

"We apologize for our inconveniences, I assure you. We stole away into the country and visited family in Tal Abyad, and were away from our properties in Alep. Our couriers were delayed due to our sudden vacation, and could not inform us of the merchant meeting being held in Damas ahead of time." Ghalib tilted his head and looked around the room before turning his attentions back to the brothers, as if making sure he was in the right building. "You are Bashshar and Ahmed ibn-Dhakir, no?"

The slim man seemed to sit as straight as a pin in his chair from realization. The fat one sat reclined, content on staring at the newcomer's wife. "Yes," the slim one said, "yes, we are! Forgive me for my lack of manners earlier. I am Ahmed, and this is my brother, the merchant Bashshar. It's always a pleasure to find another one of Syria's brood at our doorstep." He smiled.

Ghalib returned the expression and bobbed his head. "I was beginning to worry that due to our tardiness, you'd refuse us."

"Oh, no," Ahmed drawled, shaking his head. "This is a business after all, and the more employees, the better, don't you agree?"

"Yes," Bashshar finally said, never taking his eyes off of Saraj. "I'm sure your wife hasn't had anything better to do than listen to her husband bicker and worry over a meeting. The poor thing's probably in _desperate _need for some comfort and… _pleasure." _

Though Saraj kept her eyes on the carpet, she heard the suggestive pause in his voice and was glad that she wasn't looking at him; she could only imagine the lecherous glint in his hungry little eyes. But Ghalib saw it. The only form of discomfort he showed was through a small twitch near his temple.

"Forgive my brother," Ahmed said to break the silence. "We have been in many meetings today and are both exhausted from debates and suggestions. But not as tired as you two must be."

"Indeed," Bashsar whispered. "She looks in need of a massage. I could arrange one if necessary."

Ghalib pursed his lips.

"Come," Ahmed said, ignoring his brother, "we will show you to your rooms." He and his brother stood and started walking out of the hall. Ghalib made sure that Bashshar was in his line of sight (though it wasn't a difficult task to accomplish) and away from his wife.

"Unfortunately," Ahmed continued, "there are no more rooms left in the Palace due to the number of our guests—we weren't expecting so many people to arrive. But do not worry; we will have you stay somewhere just as comfortable."

"The Umayyad Mosque," Bashshar clarified once they were out of the Palace. "We've negotiated with the imams in case we needed extra rooms, and have gained their consent."

"For decency's sake, you will have separate rooms, naturally." Ahmed led the way into the mosque's courtyard. Bashshar stole a glance at Saraj, who was busy taking in the sight of the gazebos and gold pillars and archways. Once inside the mosque, she kept her admiration hidden as she scanned every arch and design in the main hall. A rich red carpet spanned across the entire length of the room, and chandeliers with intricate details hung from the ceiling.

She preferred the mosque over the Palace without a doubt.

"Clothes of the finest quality will be provided for you. No doubt that the both of you made haste once receiving word of our gathering and wasted no time in such necessities," Ahmed informed them with a smile.

They took a staircase to the second story. Ahmed stopped in front of a doorway. "This is your room, Ghalib ibn-Jibril. I hope you find it to your satisfaction and feel at home in it." Ahmed opened the door and ushered the man inside. Ghalib turned his head, noticing that Bashshar did not follow. The merchant seemed to have plans to escort Saraj to her quarters.

"If you will follow me," Bashshar offered. Saraj tasted bile in her throat as the man's eyes lingered on her form, and she looked to her husband for support. Their eyes locked together, and he marched straight out of his room, ignoring Ahmed explaining the schedule the following morn, and accompanied Bashshar.

"My wife finds it distressing if I am not near her when introduced to new surroundings," Ghalib bit out as he purposely stood between Saraj and Bashshar.

"Of course," Bashshar nodded, "I believe you. The stress and tension is quite apparent in her; perhaps she just needs to lie down and let someone _alleviate _her troubles."

Ghalib's eyes flashed. "Or maybe a good night's sleep will do just the same."

"Or a night without sleep," Bashshar smirked. When Ghalib's eyes glowed a piercing hazel, he quickly scurried as fast as his plump feet could carry him to one of the doors in the hall. "Here we are. She will be staying in this room, just down the hall from yours. Now if you will excuse me, my brother and I must retire to our Palace now. Please, enjoy your stay, and know that we appreciate you coming to our convention."

Ghalib inclined his head as Bashshar left, but not without stealing one final glimpse of Saraj. When the ibn-Dhakir brothers finally descended the staircase and left the mosque, Ghalib opened the door to his wife's quarters and motioned her inside.

He immediately began searching the room, tossing the cushions and rugs this way and that. His wife stood silently in a corner.

He pushed aside the curtains and squinted out the window. "_Wald el qahba'," _he muttered beneath his breath. Bashshar had placed Saraj in a room accordingly—right outside the window was the Palace. Though Ghalib doubted there was an object that could magnify vision, he still felt that lines of privacy were being assaulted.

"_Yla'an," _he cursed. He clenched his fist, tightened his jaw, and made to storm back to his room when he noticed Saraj.

"Have I done something to upset you, husband?" she murmured while staring at the floor with listless eyes.

He blinked and shook his head. "No, Maria, you haven't," Altair stated, confused by her words. "Why would you ask?"

"You seem upset, husband. I am merely wondering if there is anything I can do to brighten your mood."

"Maria," he sighed, motioning toward the door. "We're quite alone, do not speak to me as if I am above you."

"I do as my husband says," she said in a whisper.

He slumped his shoulders and moved in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Please, do not do this to me."

"Do what?"

"Do not practice being Ghalib's wife now. There is no one to fool here."

"Practice?" She cocked her head to the side. "I know no such thing as practice. It is my ambition and duty to serve you."

"Maria," Altair whispered. He pulled her _hijab _down so that her hair sprung free of the headdress. He pulled her closer to him, noticing with a tight chest that she didn't even bother resisting. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.

"This is quite inappropriate, husband," she murmured into his chest. "We disgrace Allah by this sign of affection."

"Then tell me when we will be free to display our feelings to each other."

Saraj shifted her head so that it rested on his shoulder. "I do not understand what you mean. I am property, and it is foolhardy to feel anything for an object."

He wished she'd do something with her arms other than keeping them at her side. He wanted her to do _something—anything. _He wouldn't even mind if she shoved him away or punched him off of her, so long as it showed that Maria Thorpe was still present in this Saraj bint-Mikhail.

"I see," he said after a long pause. "Goodnight to you then," he whispered against her ear. He cupped her cheek for a brief moment before leaving the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Maria heaved a breath of relief and slumped against the wall.

* * *

The next morning began with Bashshar barging his large self into Ghalib's room. The merchant cleared his throat, thinking Ghalib to still be asleep—who could _not _hear the elephant marching up the staircase?

"Dreams about your wife, I presume?" Bashshar asked with a lewd grin stretched over his round, plump face.

Ghalib, who was sprawled across cushions and pillows and who only wore his tunic to bed, groggily opened his eyes, peering about the room. He glanced at Bashshar without any emotion, still feigning to become accustomed to the bright sunshine filtering through the curtains.

And also accustoming himself to the flabby hippo standing just five feet from him.

Ghalib glanced down, noticing what Bashshar referred to. "Yes, in all honesty. I've been dreaming about _my _wife." He scrunched his brow at the merchant before stretching his arms and legs out.

"No doubt," Bashshar agreed. "It'd probably take a woman gifted in all _areas _to please an intimidating, strong-willed man such as yourself."

Ghalib nodded and pulled himself off the floor. "Forgive me if my attire insults you."

"Forgiven," Bashshar said as he handed Ghalib the bundle of clothes in his arms. Ghalib didn't appreciate that the merchant's eyes never left him as he undressed and pulled the fresh garments on. "My brother and I would like to inform you that we will be holding a meeting in the Palace dining hall for breakfast as a way to introduce yourself to the other merchants."

"I will wake Saraj, then—"

"That will not be necessary," Bashshar dismissed. "As lovely as she may be, her gender still conflicts with the presence of men. It would be unwise for her to attend as well. I suggest allowing her to sleep further; she must be very tired due to your trip from Tal Abyad."

'_So that you will know exactly where she is,' _Altair thought bitterly. "Indeed. It would be unwise of me to offer other men to stare at her with eyes full of desire. It's my duty as her husband to protect her from such sins."

Bashshar narrowed his eyes at him. "And what an incompetent husband you'd be if you'd allow your wife to stray."

Ghalib smirked as he finished wrapping his turban. Finally dressed and ready, he followed Bashshar out his room. As they stepped down the stairwell, Altair spared a glance at Maria's room.

_'I should let her know—no, it'd compromise us.' _He twisted his lips as he and Bashshar left the Umayyad Mosque.

"It's always a sight to remember when witnessing Damascus first awaken every morning," Bashshar mused. He was so bulbous that Ghalib needed to walk behind him so that they didn't take up the entire street. "Is this your first time in Damascus, Ghalib?"

"No," he replied. "I've been here many times before, mainly for business trips."

"You have never taken your wife to Damascus to enjoy it with her?"

"No, this is her first time here."

"How long have you two been married?" Bashshar pressed.

"Just over three years now," Ghalib answered with a smile, his head raised high.

"And has she given you any successors to your business?"

Ghalib's insides twisted at the question. He purposely gave the merchant a noticeable, annoyed look before biting out, "We have not concerned ourselves with heirs over our time of marriage."

"Ah," Bashshar nodded. "I see. It is a shame to let a woman like that go to waste. There are plenty of men who would enjoy having her beneath them."

Ghalib rolled his eyes and would have given the fat man something else to enjoy, but thankfully, they arrived just in time at the Palace before he could squish Bashshar and his rolls of fat.

Ahmed turned his head toward them, smiled, and motioned for them to come into the courtyard. Ghalib strode far ahead of Bashshar, grateful to have some distance from the sweaty swine.

He bowed his head in greeting, and Ahmed's smile widened.

"It is good to see you again, Ghalib. I trust your night in the Umayyad was pleasant?"

"Again, I appreciate your efforts to provide for me and my wife."

Ahmed chuckled. "There is no need to thank me, man. Your wife was just telling me of your home in Alep."

Ghalib stood from his stoop and cocked his head in baffled curiosity. "My wife?"

Saraj sauntered over to them carrying two bowls of tea and wearing a humble yet smug grin. She offered one of the bowls to Ahmed. "Yes, Ghalib, or have you forgotten me yet again?" she whispered in a sing-song voice.

Ahmed accepted the bowl and slugged back the tea. "Your wife is a very interesting woman to speak to, Ghalib. Forgive me for my speculation, but the other day she seemed awfully terrified and meek. But she has proven me wrong—_very _wrong. I'm delighted by her sense of humor and view on the world around her."

"And what view has she shared with you?" Ghalib narrowed his eyes at Saraj, not liking the confident air she sported.

"Oh, mainly dealings with your business and family," Ahmed said with a wave of his hand. "She says that your late father—bless his soul—was a potter. Remarkable how you went from rags to riches!"

"He owes it to his method of acquiring what he wants," Saraj remarked with a bob of her head. She smiled at Ghalib.

"And I can see that what he wants is unobtainable," Bashshar grunted as he finally caught up with Ghalib. The pudgy man eyed Saraj, enjoying the way her _jalabiya _wrapped around her figure and the way the blues and gold accentuated her eyes. With his beady eyes on her, she regretted keeping her _hijab _open and displaying her hair. "A woman with such vigor must be hard to keep in his grasp."

Saraj lifted a brow and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "My thanks for the compliment," she dryly said.

"My compliments could only range from head to toe for you," Bashshar smiled, his round, greasy face creasing with wrinkles.

Ahmed cleared his throat. "Yes, well. The breakfast is just about to begin. Bashshar, if you would be so kind as to take Ghalib?"

Bashshar nodded, his eyes still on Saraj, and beckoned for Ghalib to follow him as he waddled his way into the Palace.

"I will stay with your wife, Ghalib, if you do not mind, of course. I am sorry if it seems rude to you."

"Not at all," Ghalib said. He didn't trust either of the brothers, but he supposed that Ahmed was more capable of keeping to himself than Bashshar was. "She feels the need to exercise her tongue, I understand."

"That is because my husband suppresses me from using it on him." Saraj shifted on her feet, bringing Ghalib's eyes to the small sway of her hips and shoulders. Her husband swallowed.

"A sad thing it must be to not have any chance to converse," Ahmed sighed, oblivious to the knowing glint in Maria's eyes. "But delay no further, Ghalib. There are many intriguing merchants from far lands eager to meet you." Ahmed watched the man follow his brother into the Palace before turning to Saraj. He smiled again. "Come. Walk with me, won't you?"

* * *

Ghalib forced himself to keep his breakfast in his stomach and not put it back on his plate. He sat on a cushion inside a large room filled with the other merchants, and, unfortunately, with Bashshar to his right.

No, that was an understatement. The hippo was practically on his _lap, _for Allah's sake.

Ghalib listened to the different languages around him, irked beyond belief that _no one _from two different countries could understand each other. The whole room was divided by culture, it seemed.

To him, there was nothing intriguing about these merchants. From the Arabic ones, he gathered very little information on the Templars—nothing he didn't know already.

And from the lard beside him, he gathered that he had no dining manners or concern for his appearance. He still ate from his plate, piling more and more food until he made a small mountain of it, and then forced it all into his mouth. Bits of it clung to the sides of his fat lips, some of it slipping under the folds in his neck. He licked his fingers, adding more grease to his oily body, before wolfing down more food.

'_Gluttony is a sin after all,' _Ghalib thought with distaste. He hoped that every morning wouldn't be spent with Bashshar's rude eating habits.

Saraj was probably having a most sublime time strolling around Damascus with Ahmed.

* * *

Mustafa nudged the infirmary door open with his foot. He balanced a tray of food with one hand while the other kept two bowls of ayran from spilling over. Righting himself from teetering over, he scurried as fast as possible into the infirmary without making a mess.

Sighing once the trays and bowls were safely on the table beside the bed, he held his hands out, making sure that they'd stay on the table and wouldn't spontaneously sprout legs to spite him.

He chuckled from the thought and rubbed the back of his head. For stubbing his toe several times in the training ring that day, he'd done a damn decent job with his balance—even if he had to hobble and hop his way to the infirmary.

"_Oyé, estupido." _

Mustafa peered over at the bed, chuckling again as the bandaged boy did his best to glare at him. Mustafa never knew that mummies could be so facetious with their facial expressions.

"Don't laugh at me," the boy huffed. "You should be apologizing. With all the racket you made, you woke me up from a good dream."

"Apologies, friend," Mustafa grinned. "I thought you'd be hungry, though. Master Mills said that you hadn't eaten since this morning, and it's almost evening—"

"_Sí, pues, _Benny always worries." Mustafa handed him a plate of kibbeh—many thanks to Allah that Malik didn't reach the kitchen before he did—and watched as the boy's eyes widened in merriment while he gobbled the food down.

"So," Mustafa began, "there's been much talk of you around here. Is it true that the reason you were found in the Kingdom is that you ate your horse's legs?"

"_Qué?_" Damiel asked, his eyes glittering with fascination. "I've never eaten a horse's legs in my whole life, and I don't plan on doing so any time soon—wait, wait, wait."

"So, you _have _eaten horse's legs?"

"What—_no! _I told you no!"

"Oh," Mustafa sighed. "Here I was hoping to prove a rumor right."

"Rumors? What rumors?"

The novice chuckled and offered Damiel a cheeky smile. "Well, you see, the lesser-ranked of my Brothers occupy themselves with stories and tales—myself included. Around these parts, rumors keep us going throughout the day.

Damiel narrowed his eyes and wiggled his toes from beneath the blankets. "Where is _here, _then?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? I would have thought that Hildegard or Miss Maria—"

"_Oyé, _Maria's no Miss, trust me. She has more balls than a testosterone-fueled lion," Damiel smirked while crossing his arms.

Mustafa gawked. How could the Master find interest in a woman with man parts? Oh, Rakin and Nabil would _die _from the news. He added another chuckle. "Well, either way—does she _really?—_I'm surprised by this. You are in Syria, friend. Well, Masyaf to be exact—the Eagle Nest."

When Damiel stared at him with a slack jaw and an unimpressed face, Mustafa sighed and elaborated, "The nest of the Hashshashin? The Syrian sect of the Assassin Brotherhood?"

Any confusion Damiel had was sapped away and replaced by horror. "_Uré?" _he murmured with a thick tongue. He could feel bile build up in his throat and he almost choked on a kibbeh. _Why _would Hildegard and Benny leave him in an Assassin fortress? More importantly, _how _could Maria just leave him behind as a sheep amongst wolves?

He closed his eyes, too many memories resurfacing. '_I don't want to relive this.' _

When Mustafa blinked, not understanding the language, the Damiel groaned. "Where?"

"Oh," Mustafa chuckled, shaking his head in good nature. "As I said, Masyaf. I know I don't seem like much—I'm only a novice, after all—but believe me when I say that you're in the Eagle's Nest. Well, you're in a branch of the Eagle's tree. The main nest is in Alamut, but that's not in Syria, so—" Mustafa paused as he noticed how blue Damiel's face became after each word he spoke. "Are you feeling ill? Should I call for the healer?" Mustafa reached over and felt the boy's forehead.

"I'm fine," he managed to croak out.

"Are you certain, friend? You look mighty pale to me—"

"_Sí, _I'm fine." Damiel whimpered and held the bowl of kibbeh out for Mustafa. The novice wasted no time in taking the bowl and setting it back down on the table.

"Have I done something to upset you, friend?" Mustafa asked with a heavy heart. He'd just met the boy—properly—and already he blundered! He felt a physical weight push his shoulders down.

"No," Damiel murmured. "Just… tell me something else, please."

Mustafa shrugged his shoulders. "There isn't much to tell, but I do have questions."

"About my diet again?"

"Oh, no," he laughed. "There are other guesses as to how you were in the Kingdom, very colorful ones too, but none that I'm interested in. But prove this rumor either right or wrong: is it true that you're the son of Jenaro Karkafian?"

Damiel wished the bed would swallow him up and hide him from the hopeful eyes of the novice. He held his breath waiting for the covers to strangle him. When that didn't happen, he fell back against his pillows and exhaled with the weight of a man carrying all of the world's troubles. Eventually, he whispered, "I haven't considered myself his son in many years."

Mustafa frowned at this. "You don't ever stop being someone's child, I believe. You're part of his lineage, aren't you?"

Damiel opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, as if he could see passed it to another time—a better one, filled with the laughter of Estela, Alejandro, and himself running along Andorra's riverbank, tossing stones into the water and watching them skip across the surface.

"I am forced to be, yes," Damiel said. He looked over at Mustafa. "May I ask my own questions?"

"Of course, friend!" Mustafa smiled. "Anything you want to know, I'll tell."

"A name would be nice." Damiel forced a weak smile on his face.

Mustafa blushed and chuckled. "I suppose a name _would _be the first start to a conversation, wouldn't it? Forgive me. I am Mustafa ibn-Rashid, novice of the Assassin Brotherhood."

Damiel chuckled with the boy. "And I suppose it's no surprise as to who _I _am, is it? Damiel Karkafian, spawn of Jenaro Karkafian and member of the Rose." He held his hand out for Mustafa, and the boys shook.

"A pleasure, Damiel Karkafian. Welcome to Masyaf," Mustafa beamed. Damiel grinned back and was about to reply when a man donned in a loose tunic and sirwals came barreling into the infirmary.

"Oh, _there _you are, Mustafa! Shame on you for making me scour this fortress top to bottom. The furnaces aren't going to feed themselves wood, you know. Now, back to the smithy."

Mustafa stood and bowed. "Many apologies, Master Rauf. I promise you it will not happen again!"

Rauf crossed his arms and shook his head. "You're sure _right _it won't happen again—the next time I catch you trying to sneak your loud self out of my armory, I'll degrade you to linen duty!"

Mustafa's eyes widened in terror. Rakin and Nabil still complained how their fingers were healing from all the needles picking at the sensitive flesh.

Rauf eyed Mustafa and motioned for the boy to return to the smithy. The novice sighed, spared a glance back at Damiel, and bumbled his way out of the infirmary. He stopped in the doorway when Rauf gasped and noticed the conscious boy in the bed.

Damiel returned Rauf's gaze, watching how the older man rubbed the greying stubble on his chin and jaw. Rauf blinked at Damiel before venturing closer to the bed. He leaned in close to the boy so that their faces were just inches apart. Rauf studied Damiel's face, and unfortunately for the boy, there was nowhere to run. His pillow wouldn't swallow him, either.

"Just as I thought," Rauf nodded. "He has the color of Siran's eyes, even the warmth of them, but the intensity of his father's. And has inherited Jenaro's unruly hair, I can see." He tousled the boy's curls and smiled a lopsided grin. "He has Siran's eyebrows, too—_bushy."_

"Don't insult my _meres," _Damiel warned, "if you never had the opportunity to meet her."

Rauf laughed and stepped away from the bed. "Oh? And what makes you think that I never knew your mother or father? You even have Siran's sense of caution and warning about you! Though, I can see Jenaro's spark of insanity in you, too."

Mustafa waddled over and squinted at Damiel. "Insanity? I don't see anything crazy about him."

Rauf elbowed him out of the way. "Of course you can't! You're just a whiny, gossiping novice. _He _is The Karkafian!"

"You speak of me as if I'm a god," Damiel moaned. "And _this _is why I hid myself from you people."

"Hid yourself?" Rauf boomed. "Why on Earth would you want to do that? Why would you turn your back on your father's legacy?"

"Because my father," Damiel snapped back, pushing himself up into a sitting position, "was too busy chasing down Templars in _España _to bother himself with rescuing his son from slavers! Do you know how distressing—no, that isn't even the correct word to use—it is for a little _boy _to cling to the hope that his father, a man capable of dispatching a gross of men, would find him, hold him in his arms, and bring him back home?

"I suckled that hope for _years, _and he _never came for me. _Why should I choose the same life my father did if it means forfeiting love for duty?"

Rauf's entire frame hardened from Damiel's words. His fists shook at his sides and his eyes hardened into stone. Mustafa glanced back and forth between Damiel and the Assassin, nervously slinking closer to the bed if Rauf decided to pummel the boy.

But Rauf swallowed his anger down and sighed. "Is that what you were taught to believe? That your father refused to allow his love for you to interfere with his identity?"

Damiel scoffed. "It isn't what I was taught. It's what I learned from the nights spent being whipped by slavers and burned by their brands. And I don't believe that my father ever had any love for me."

Rauf looked away from the boy and stared at the wall. "That is a harsh thing to say about him," he whispered. "Jenaro would have done anything for you."

"Except riding after the traffickers," Damiel clarified. He sank back into his bed and bundled the blankets around him. "But I'm content with the life I currently lead."

Rauf grunted and furrowed his brow at him. "And what life is that? Being part of an unstable faction?"

"No," Damiel said in a low tone. "Being part of a faction that has _love _in it."

Rauf threw his hand in the air and clicked his tongue. "Your mind has been ruined by your ill thoughts. Jenaro would spear me if I let this illness continue any further. It is settled, then."

"What's settled?" Mustafa asked with a characteristic chuckle.

"Starting tomorrow," Rauf replied with confident finality, "_you, _Damiel Karkafian, will put yourself in your father's shoes. Even if I have to strap those boots to you for you to see the truth, then so Allah help me, I _will." _

Damiel closed his eyes and smirked. "I'll enjoy seeing you _try." _

* * *

Maria collapsed in her cushions back at the Umayyad Mosque. She sighed and wiggled her arms and legs in the soft fabrics. She'd spent a lovely day with Ahmed, who had explained most of the landmarks in Damascus to her and even went as far as to buy her meals. He was a marvelous speaker as well, his voice flowing with crescendos, accents, and pianos; he knew how to weave fascinating stories that enraptured his listeners.

It was music to her ears.

'_He certainly knows how to treat a lady,' _she thought with a sleepy grin. '_At least, more than my husband knows how to.' _

She shifted on her bed, rolling her shoulders and stretching her legs out. She winced as her back nudged against something rough. She turned over her side and looked at what had given her such discomfort. She rolled her eyes and blew out of her lips.

She picked up the outfit, scrunching her nose up. She didn't even need a note to know who sent her the provocative garbs.

Ghalib opened her door and invited himself into her room. He looked worse for wear.

"Do you require something, husband?" Saraj asked from her spot on the cushions.

He nodded and shut her door. "How could you chance everything on our second day—_what _is that?"

Saraj glanced at the clothes in her hands. "I'm quite sure that dancers of this country—belly-dancers, no?—wear these while performing. Surely you knew this?"

Ghalib exhaled and bobbed his head in impatience. "Of course I know what it is. Why do you have it?"

Saraj shrugged. "My suspicions are that a merchant by the name of Bashshar—you remember him, don't you?—purchased and left them here for me. Or maybe he didn't purchase them; maybe he had it stashed away somewhere. A fetish, I suppose."

Ghalib groaned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. _Bashshar. _He'd had just about enough of that pig for the rest of his life—and it was only the second day! He was always eating. Eating, and eating, and _eating! _He could see the fatty's body become bigger and bigger after every bite! And the pudgy ball of kibbeh followed him _everywhere! _

Saraj tilted her head. "Is something wrong, husband? You seem upset."

Altair laughed a miserable scoff. "Oh, I assure you, your husband is quite alright."

"Well, that's a delight," Saraj said while placing the outfit beside her cushions. "I'd hate for you to fall ill in such circumstances."

"Speaking of falling," Altair said, "don't let Ahmed persuade you to trust him. He's sided with the Templars, remember that."

Saraj waved a hand at him and relaxed against her cushions again. "That won't be a problem, Ghalib. Ahmed merely shows kindness to me when you don't."

Altair shook his head. "Don't fall in love with the enemy."

Maria locked her eyes with his, a catlike smile spreading over her lips. "Oh, I already have, Altair. I _already have." _

* * *

**Wohh, boy! We have a lot of FF, Fun Facts for this chapter! First off, the place where Ghalib and Saraj vacationed at, Tal Abyad, was where my father spent his summers while he lived in Syria. Ghalib's and Saraj's home in Aleppo was also inspired by where my dad lived when it wasn't summer.**

**Second FF, Fun Fact, is when Maria states that she looks like she's wearing a rug. My good and dear friend, Fate Likes Fools, had a conversation with me regarding Maria's outfit in AC: Revelations. We both think she's wearing a rug. Altair likes rolling his woman up in them. Cough.**

**Third FF, Fun Fact. I was listening to Shrek the Musical soundtrack for this entire chapter XD. Alright, that's a lie. The Damiel scene, I listened to 'The Mystic's Dream' by Loreena Mckennitt (I think I spelled that right?).**

**Fourth FF, Fun Fact, is this: I had so much fun writing this chapter. I love the banter I made between Ghalib and Saraj. I take pride in Saraj's teasing comments toward him =D**

**And this isn't a FF, Fun Fact, but what the hey! Hopefully all of you can see more of the reason why Damiel is protective about Maria and her tower lover. And I'm adding this in here: I change Maria's and Altair's names back and forth between Saraj and Ghalib for a reason. Hopefully my readers will catch on why I do that.**

Translations:

Arabic:

_Sharmuta: _whore/prostitute

_Jalabiya: _a form of Arabic dress

_Oud: _an Arabic lute/banjo

_Darbuka: _an Arabic hand drum

_Zumara: _an Arabic flute

_As-salam alaykum: _formal greeting in Arabic

_Salam: _informal greeting in Arabic

_Hijab: _a form of Arabic headdress

_Wald el qahba: _son of a bitch

_Yla'an: _dammit

Spanish:

_Oye: _hey

_Por favor: _please

_Muy bonita: _very pretty

_Sí: _yes

_Estupido: _stupid

_Qué?: _What?

_Pues: _Well

Armenian:

_Uré?: _Where?

_Meres: _mother


	31. Chapter 25

**Played Revelations, beat Revelations. Cried during every Altair memory scene, especially the last few ones (will not spoil anything). Made me realize how short and painful life is, but how it makes a person stronger for accepting its cruelty.**

**Anyways. Here is Chapter 25, hope you all enjoy it, cheers to me for editing (probably missed a few things), disclaimer, yatta yatta yatta, leave a review, blah blah blah. More A/N at the end.**

* * *

_A lone horse and his rider thudded through the pass of the Cilician Gates. They marched on, their duty to their _takavor_ more than enough reason for them to continue. The rider tangled his fingers in the horse's hair, giving only a ghost's smile as the horse playfully whickered from the gesture. _

_The pass was rocky with shrubs and smaller plants scattered here and there. The sky was bright blue with only a tint of green. The horse ambled on, occasionally leaping over a jutting boulder or skittering past loose rock. But still, it continued._

_Tagvoryan tightened his hold on the reins, whispering encouragement to the beast beneath him as they climbed the pass. It'd taken them a month to arrive in Armenia, and then a full week to reach Cilicia. Damascus was a beautiful city with fine buildings and food, but the air there was tainted with foreign indifference and greed. It wasn't like Cilicia, a small pocket of a country inside of Armenia. _

_Syria was a torn country, slowly picking itself from the ground due to the Crusades. Armenia hadn't been touched by the war as much as its neighbor—thank God. Tagvoryan assumed that staying most of his life within Armenia sheltered him from the horrors of the countries south of him._

_Whatever reason he felt alarm build up in his body while away from Cilicia, it didn't compare to the dread now weaving in his heart. He closed his eyes and rubbed his horse's neck, soothing the animal from spooking as loose rock slipped down the mountain. _

_A breeze swept through the pass. He inhaled, shuddering at the familiar scent. The wind carried pollen and petals with it, and the floral scent tickled the hairs in his nose. He twisted his body in the saddle, shouting as he felt the air try to wrap him in its embrace. A hand to his cheek; he shied away from the touch. Arms about his waist; he urged the horse faster up the slopes._

_His eyes shot open as murmurs whipped past his ear at the new speed. If he listened carefully enough, he could hear the laughter, the sweet voice, and the whispers of love._

_Her voice… her beautiful tune…_

_The hand cupped his cheek again. The silken fingers glided down toward his neck, caressing it and then patting it. He clawed at his throat, willing the feel of the hand to vanish and leave his person alone._

_Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he kicked the horse into a gallop. Finally, with the Cilician Gates left behind him, he tugged his mount to a stop and turned back toward the pass. Panting, he touched his face and neck. His pulse pushed erratically against his flesh, as if he'd just run from Damascus to Cilicia. _

_The murmurs in the pass were no longer feather-soft whispers; they were tortured moans and echoes of screams reaching out to him with clawed hands. Tagvoryan ferociously shook his head back and forth before snapping the reins again._

_He bent over his horse, finally entering Lesser Armenia. There was no sign announcing 'Cilicia' to any who traveled inside her borders. The country was still a rocky mountain with cruel slopes and trees with twisted limbs reaching toward the sky in helpless pleas._

_Tagvoryan buried his face in his horse's neck. If he hurried, he'd make it to Sis before nightfall and find shelter against the cries and taunts biting at his ears._

_'_Yeva, when will you ever forgive me_?' He whimpered into the horse's mane._

* * *

"Up, up, up, _yalla! _Let's go, remove yourself from that bed. Don't make me hit these bowls together. I said _up, _you lazy lump!" Rauf pecked at Damiel and smacked the blankets. Damiel groaned and pulled the covers over his head. "You're wasting daylight! Now _yalla, yalla!"_

Damiel whimpered and shook his head, smushing his face into the mattress. He mumbled something unintelligible. Rauf huffed and placed his hands on his hips. "I can see someone isn't a morning person."

Damiel raised his head and glared at Rauf. "_Morning? Dios, _the _sun _isn't even out yet! You call this _morning?" _

Rauf nodded and grabbed the blankets. Damiel quickly latched onto them as well, challenging the man to an old-fashioned tug-of-war game.

"Of course it is morning! The birds are out, so it's morning! Now, up you get!"

Damiel snarled and pulled with all of his strength. "I wake when the sun is its highest—"

"Not anymore you don't! Your training begins today!"

"Hoho, _no _it certainly doesn't! I'm happy being part of the Rose!"

"To deny your heritage is a sin! Unhand the blanket!"

"Unhand _my _blanket!"

Rauf pursed his lips as he leaned back, using all his weight to gain leverage. His muscles bunched together as he tugged the blanket. "My Brothers and I provided it for you, so therefore it is _our _blanket!"

"Well, find your own blanket, and while you're at it, find someone else to pester—" Damiel yelped as Rauf gave a strong jerk on the blanket, sending the boy tumbling to the floor. He hissed and winced as his sore arms and legs protested from the sudden collision.

"_Vaya, vaya, vaya! Eres un perro!" _

Rauf rolled his eyes. "I will pretend that I do not know what you just said to me. I can see that today's the day we also scrub that tongue of yours." He picked the boy up from under his arms and hauled him to his feet. Damiel wobbled, and if it wasn't for Rauf supporting most of his weight, he would have smacked against the floor again.

"Easy, easy—_oyé, _I can't move that fast yet!"

Rauf harrumphed. "And yet you have the energy to speak sass to me. Now no more excuses and delays. The others aren't awake yet—"

"_Eres un perro con no genitales!" _Damiel screeched.

Rauf clicked his tongue. "Quiet, or you'll wake the others and we won't have this opportunity again for a while. Now bite the pain back, be a man, and _start walking. _We need to build your muscles back up, and we'll start with walks around the town. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two in that thick head of yours, as well."

Damiel tried to pull his arm out of Rauf's grasp. "But I can't walk around like this! I'm bandaged head to toe! I need _clothes!" _

"Here," Rauf said as he tossed the boy a robe. "Wear that for now. Until you're ready to stand on your own without my support, you won't wear the proper garments that the novices wear."

"I'm no novice," Damiel scoffed as he pulled the robe over his head. "I'm far more experienced than those _boys." _

"And yet you yourself remain an insolent pup. We shall see how talented you are when you are capable of proving yourself. Now stop defying me and _move." _Rauf pushed the boy in front of him and out of the infirmary. Damiel stumbled and cursed as he stubbed his toe. Rauf smiled and grabbed the boy's arm before he hit the floor.

"I can see you'd make papa _very _proud. He's most likely beaming with adoration toward your _experiences."_

Damiel rolled his eyes and pouted. "I should have jumped off a cliff while I had the chance in the Kingdom."

Rauf erupted into laughter and led the boy into the foyer. "Oh no, I don't think so. No more hiding for you, young man. There will be no more hiding from your uncle, understand?"

"You're not my uncle—I don't _have _an uncle," Damiel whined.

"Well, now you do. Just call me Uncle Rauf. I will be your mentor in the arts of the Hashshashin from now on."

The boy groaned and swiveled his head back and forth. "I will never stop hating you for this, you know."

"I have every doubt in the world about that," Rauf smirked with a wink. "You'll understand soon enough, little _niño." _

"Oh, _marveloso. _He understands my own language. _Perfecto. _There will be no talking about him behind his back, now."

* * *

Saraj smiled and lifted her head toward the sun. She walked beside Ahmed, listening to him explain the different wares on sale in the marketplace. He'd offered escorting her into Souk Saruja, but she was forced to decline him, explaining that Ghalib had promised her beforehand.

"And when does he plan on fulfilling this promise? It seems unfair to keep a woman waiting to me," Ahmed sighed. Saraj shrugged, and he resumed explaining the products.

"And these," Ahmed said while leading her over to a stall, "I think you'll find a bit more interesting than common vases and pots." He watched as she examined the necklaces and bangles on sale. Judging by the childlike joy in her eyes, he'd picked the right stall to bring her to.

"Oh, these are just lovely," she breathed as she picked up a necklace and a matching bangle.

Ahmed nodded. "It matches your eyes very well."

"I'll have to tell Ghalib about this place so he may take me here to buy them."

Ahmed shook his head and pulled out his coin purse. "That will not be necessary. I am prepared to purchase anything for you."

"Oh, Ahmed," she pouted and swatted his hand away from the purse. "That would be far too much of you. You've already given my husband and me rooms at the Umayyad; I couldn't possibly accept anything further from you."

"But chances like these are a once in a lifetime moment, Saraj."

She laughed and threw her hair over her shoulder. "I'm sure there are other stalls with equally fine jewelry." She swore she heard the merchant behind the stall growl from her statement. She gave him a sweet smile when he turned red in the face.

Ahmed chuckled and placed the coins in the merchant's hands. "Jewelry, there is plenty of. Pleasing and buying a young woman something that'd delight her? That is rare." Saraj turned her eyes away from him as he glanced at her.

"My husband would not approve, Ahmed," she whispered loud enough for only him to hear.

He offered the jewelry out to her, and when she reached for it, he held her hand. "I know he wouldn't, but shame upon him for neglecting a flower only wishing to thrive in the world."

She slid her hand out of his grasp and pocketed the jewelry. "It is a choice that I have no say in, Ahmed. Our parents decided our union many years ago."

"Then shame upon them, as well."

"Ahmed!" She clicked her tongue. "Insulting my husband is one thing, but disgracing my parents is another. Please, do not do say such things in my presence again."

"Apologies, Saraj. You have my word that those sins will not pass my lips again." He smiled and escorted her back to the Palace. "Ghalib is probably in another meeting."

"Shouldn't you attend them as well, Ahmed?"

He laughed. "Trying to shoo me away?"

"No," she smiled. "It just seems strange that since you and your brother are merchants—"

"Bashshar is the merchant, I am merely his supervisor. He has tendencies to venture ahead of himself and make rash decisions, so that is where I come into play."

"Like a peacemaker?"

"Only when arms are taken up," Ahmed chuckled. "But with my presence, my brother is less inclined to rush into matters. I'm actually very proud of him; he seems more patient and mature lately."

Saraj secretly rolled her eyes. He certainly didn't show this so-called patience and maturity. She couldn't even manage to escape his questing eye while by her husband's side.

They were greeted by a gaggle of merchants once they arrived at the Palace. Saraj noticed the way each man swept their eyes over her, and she internally cringed. Just _why _did Ghalib have to be the only merchant who decided to bring his wife along?

Or maybe Ghalib was the only one who was married. Either way, Saraj wished that there was some other form of female distraction. There were probably whores stashed away in the Palace somewhere, anyways.

Through the swarm of bodies, Saraj managed to catch a glimpse of Ghalib's turban. She smiled and waited as he pushed his way through the merchants. Once he stood before her, she inclined her head. "_Salam, _Ghalib."

He made a sound from the back of his throat in acknowledgment before bowing to Ahmed. "Master Ahmed, it is good to see you well today."

"As it is for you, Ghalib," he grinned. "I trust the meeting wasn't too dull?"

Ghalib shrugged and explained some of the details to Ahmed. Maria, though, could see in his eyes that nothing of importance was gained from the meeting. She felt a sigh wrack itself through her body, but she repressed the urge to show her disappointment. She padded away from the men and toward several vines to admire the flowers.

"It has been a long day, Ahmed. I believe it best to rest for a few hours before the meeting tonight."

Ahmed frowned and looked over at Saraj. "May I have a word, Ghalib?" He motioned toward the far end of the courtyard. Once he was sure Saraj wouldn't overhear, Ahmed started. "I could not help but notice that throughout the week, you've tended to ignore and not care for Saraj's entertainment while in Damascus."

"Saraj finds entertainment in small things, like plants," Ghalib answered with a confident voice. He waved toward her. "And to emphasize my point, she seems to enjoy those flowers over there."

Ahmed sighed and shifted on his heels. "Maybe at first glance she seems to be satisfied by paltry means, but there is much more to that woman."

"Are you saying that I do not understand my own wife?"

Ahmed wanted to say yes a thousand times and knock sense into the man's head, but he only replied with, "I mean to suggest no such thing. I am only suggesting that you should take her some place exciting while she is here. You promised to take her to the great Souk, didn't you? You should stay true to your word and escort her there."

"Why take my wife to a market when I can see others have indulged her with gifts already?" He narrowed his eyes at Ahmed. Ahmed looked away from the steely gaze and swallowed. "I would appreciate it if you did not spoil her further."

"Apologies, Ghalib. I did not mean any offense to you or your status with her."

"There was never any threat." He walked past Ahmed, inclined to end the conversation.

"And so what will you do? Continue to turn a blind eye on her boredom?" Ahmed demanded as he walked alongside him.

Ghalib pursed his lips and balled his hand into a fist. "No. I'm taking her to the Saruja where she'll be _entertained._" He scowled and muttered beneath his breath the absurdity of such a thing.

Ahmed smiled and nodded for no particular reason. "I'm glad. She deserves it, you know."

"Oh, _absolutely," _he said with mock agreement. Ghalib brushed aside Ahmed and approached his wife. He cleared his throat when he stood next to her, waiting for her to notice him.

When she whirled around to face him, he noticed that she'd plucked some of the flowers off of their vines and tucked them into her hair. He couldn't help but to smile at how the petals brought out the color in her cheeks, but when his eyes ventured to her neck, he soured at the sight of the newly purchased necklace.

"Yes, Ghalib? Is there something you require of me?" she asked with all the patience of a mother addressing her children.

"You will accompany me to the Souk Saruja, Saraj. Do not make me wait."

She smiled, her eyes shining at his announcement, and nodded. "I understand. I am ready to drop what I am doing and leave with you."

"And what is it that you are doing that is so intriguing?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "Being a wife, husband. It isn't something you can comprehend." She grinned again and followed him out of the courtyard. She jumped in surprise when he locked his arm around hers.

Ghalib glanced behind him, making certain that Ahmed or his space-consuming brother were not lurking behind them. He leaned in toward her ear when the Palace was no longer in sight. "I'm surprised you aren't sneezing from them."

She gasped from the soft tone and stared into his eyes. There was no trace of that impostor, Ghalib, in his face, and she allowed herself to pat his hand and nudge him with her hip. "And I'm surprised Bashshar hasn't squashed you with his fat arse."

Altair groaned from the thought. "As am I. Hildegard must be proud of you, though. You're holding up nicely. She must have given you a few words of advice."

Maria opened her mouth to respond with a witty remark, but she clamped it shut as she recalled hers and Hildegard's last conversation and what the topic had been. She blushed and pulled her headdress around her face, hoping to hide the tint of red in her cheeks from him.

But Altair noticed, of course. But he didn't know why he'd embarrassed her, or maybe she was catching a cold?

He cleared his throat as his lips twitched. "You act more and more like her every day. How was it that you were able to coax Ahmed into buying those bangles for you?"

Maria touched her necklace and smirked. "Why, is the great and mighty Eagle jealous? I daresay that's a hint of envy in your voice. I hope you don't take it as a blow to your pride. My tongue is just crafty when it comes to persuasion."

The corner of his mouth turned downward as a shiver crawled down his spine. Maria noticed the slight fidget in his stride and pulled him aside into an alley. She pushed him up against the wall, certain that they were well-hidden in shadow from Damascus' eyes.

Standing on the tips of her toes, she breathed into his ear, "If you'd let me use it, you'd know just how _persuading _it can be. It certainly earns a _rise _from people." She saw him tense out of the corner of her eye. Her hand wrapped around his wrist when he made to touch her. "But as I said the other day, you frown down," her free hand trailed down his torso, curving to stop at his hip, "upon me for my use of language."

She leveled her face with his. He remained stoic against her; the only thing different about him was the intensity in his hazel eyes. She squeezed his hip and shot him an impish smile before tearing herself from him. He reached out for her, but his fingertips barely brushed against her hair.

She looked over her shoulder and laughed at the disappointment evident in his face. "Come, my little eaglet," she whispered, knowing that he could still hear her. She motioned to her side, and like a puppet on strings, Altair followed her. She wrapped an arm around his. "And so what will we buy at the Saruja? I'm absolutely famished; I could content myself with kibbeh—wait, you don't like that. What about lahmajoun? They must sell it here!"

Altair listened as Maria listed what her stomach growled for, a small smile on his lips. Souk Saruja was right in front of them when his eye caught a small patch of white and grey. He glanced at the small group of boys sitting on a bench. Their familiar robes made him sigh.

"Ghalib?"

Altair looked down at Maria. "Pardon?"

"I asked you what you wanted to eat." She added in a much lower voice, "Is everything alright, Altair?"

He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Come with me." He led her away from the Souk and toward the group of boys. They stood from the bench when he approached and walked away from him. They kept a fast pace, but not fast enough to stay out of his line of sight.

"Ghalib—"

"Please be quiet, Saraj," he murmured. She listened, keeping her mouth shut as they strolled down the streets of Damascus, drawing as little attention as possible to themselves.

They walked past beggars reaching out to the crowds, pleading for money, and Saraj forced her eyes away from them. She whispered a prayer for them.

"Those merchants could make themselves useful," Altair muttered beneath his breath, "instead of eating every morsel of food in sight."

"Greed is more powerful than a human conscience, it seems," Maria whispered back with heavy pity in her words.

"Greed is only as powerful as its possessor wants it to be." Altair ushered Maria around a corner that led to a dead end. She looked over at him, about to state the obvious, when he nodded at a ladder. She turned back, not having noticed it before in the shadows, and didn't have a second thought as Altair pushed her up the ladder. She hissed and had a few retorts ready at the back of her throat, but he shook his head.

"Not here," he said. She rolled her eyes and climbed the ladder, waiting for him at the top of the building. He pulled himself up and led her to an open grating.

"Is this some form of secret communication center?"

"One of our Bureaus, yes," he said. She just managed to mouth the word 'oh' before he scooped her up in his arms and leapt through the open grating. She shrieked and clung to him, kicking her legs and cursing him to Hell and back in her mind.

He landed on the floor with the grace of a feline. Maria breathed in relief when her feet touched solid ground.

"Buffoon," she spat.

He chuckled and walked further into the Bureau. Maria smoothed her _jalabiya _out and readjusted her headdress before tailing after him. She smacked against his back as he stopped in his tracks without warning. She hissed and fussed, ready to bend his ear. She saw his tunic loosen as his muscles coiled together. Standing on tip-toe, she saw what made him so on edge and braced for action.

A man, probably the same age as Altair, leaned on the doorway that led into the Rafik's office. He stood with his arms crossed, his face a portrait of self-satisfaction and conceit. Maria's eyes narrowed at him; she didn't like the look of this Assassin one bit.

Neither did Altair.

"Abbas," he said with an unwavering tone.

Abbas threw a smirk as he eyed his master up and down. "So, the rumors are true. The Master really _is _parading around Damas, pretending to be an arrogant merchant. You pull off the guise with hardly any effort." Maria frowned from the subtle insult. She glanced at Altair.

"You're in the way, as usual," Altair quickly said, giving the man an expectant look.

"Of course," Abbas declared with sarcasm thick in his voice. He moved away from the doorway, circling around Altair as if he was prey. Altair glared at him from the corner of his eye.

"And what have we here?" He slipped around Maria, running a sickening hand through her hair. She shook her head and stepped away from his questing hands. "The pretty little ornament to support the leading actor. How quaint." Still holding a few tendrils of her hair, Abbas brought his hand to his nose and inhaled the scent. He shuddered as the aroma of roses and cinnamon wafted through his nostrils. He sneered at Altair. "Lucky man."

"Not as lucky as you'll be when you find my foot in your crotch," Maria snapped back as she snatched her hair from him.

Abbas laughed as if she'd told the greatest jest in history. "Spirited as well. It must have been refreshing to tame her."

"You're the _ass, _not I," Maria growled. Altair placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from tackling him.

"Maria," he warned when he saw the gears turning in her head. He could practically hear the schemes she was boiling up in that mind of hers. She huffed and let him push her behind him. "If you have any respectable bone in your body," Altair addressed to Abbas, "you'd stay your mockeries and challenges in your Master's presence."

Abbas bowed. "I could never imagine such a thing as to combat your authority, Master."

"Then be on your way with your duties, Abbas." Altair watched him climb up the vines on the Bureau wall and pull himself over the lattice entrance.

Maria groomed herself with her fingers, grimacing from how she still felt his hands in her hair. "And that is what I call an inconsiderate ragamuffin."

Altair didn't take his eyes off of the roof opening. "He has his reasons for what he is."

"And what reasons are those?"

He turned toward her, looking as if he wanted to say something. He decided against it and motioned her into the office. She pouted but conceded.

"I thought today would be a quiet one."

Altair smiled at the man behind the counter. "I thought you could use some excitement in your shabby cave, Butrus."

"Shabby? It may be a bit disorganized, but everything is placed according to where I will find it."

Maria smiled from the man's cheerful tone. She stepped over fallen books and vases as she took in the mess she'd found herself in. And quite a mess it was; swords and daggers strewn about, pages ripped from books tucked into corners, vases emptied of their contents and lying on their sides, and—oh dear—half-eaten food in small bits on plates.

Altair gestured between herself and the other man. "Maria, this is Butrus, Rafik of Damascus. Butrus, this is Maria Thorpe, impersonator of Saraj, wife of Ghalib."

Butrus surprised her by shaking her hand. "Ah, it's a pleasure to finally meet the woman responsible for softening Altair's shell. I always knew he'd turn out right—I _knew _it! The others always had their doubts, but I refused to submit!"

Altair chuckled as Butrus continued to shake Maria's hand with the enthusiasm of a child.

"Sure, he might have been a little rough around the edges, but I applaud you for polishing him up! Congratulations!" Maria's hand still swung to and fro in the man's grasp, and when he finally let it go, it still wavered from the motion. "And so when was the wedding? My novices have been disorganizing everything—_again—_and must have misplaced the announcement."

Maria's face flushed red. She hid her hands behind her back and stole a peek at Altair. She quickly looked away from him when their eyes met.

He shifted his shoulders and whispered a few Arabic words to Butrus. The rafik's face turned red as he fumbled out a small apology. Maria stole the chance to wander away from the men, intent on distracting herself with Butrus' mess of a Bureau.

She ran her fingers over the spines of the books still on the shelves, twisting her lips as she tried to focus on their titles. _Marriage? _Is that what that man told his Brothers? That they were _married? _Husband and _wife?_

Well, if it was with him, perhaps it would not be so miserable—

She grunted and rearranged the books. Holding her breath when she realized that Altair and Butrus probably heard her, she looked over at them, swallowing back a sigh of relief when she saw the two of them engrossed with several documents.

"Whether or not your time as this 'Ghalib' has produced results, several of my novices heard word of Templar forces in Damascus' other districts. It'd be wise if someone with more experience than them investigated," Butrus explained.

"Nothing of worth has been learned from the merchants," Altair lamented with a sigh. "Where do these rumors begin?"

"East of here, near the old mosques in the Poor District. Our Brothers report suspicious figures seen there. I would suggest asking the citizens there. The poor are known to accept bribes."

Altair nodded. "I will see what I can learn, if anything."

Butrus bowed his head. "Do not spend more than a few hours searching, Altair. No doubt your hosts at the Palace will wonder where you and…" He swallowed and motioned toward Maria, not sure what to address her as. "Just be back before dark."

"Will you permit Maria to stay here?" A foolish question for the Master to ask, but Butrus was one of the few that respected Altair during his fall of arrogance, and for that, he'd ask for the man's permission.

"Of course, of course! She may stay as long as she pleases to, so long as whatever she touches she puts back."

Maria sidled over to him just as Altair left the cluttered office. "Where has he gone?"

"Investigating, my lady. He will be dispatched for a few hours. Please, I know that this Bureau has probably seen better days, but make yourself at home."

She frowned and looked over at the far wall, disappointment evident in her face. Altair stepped back into the room, his fancy garbs replaced by his Assassin attire. He placed his hand over hers. She turned her head over to him and raised an expectant eyebrow.

"I suppose the Saruja will have to wait," she said. She tried to muster up a smile. "Another time, then."

"I will return in time to still see it, Maria."

She chuckled and shifted on her heels. "Well, aren't you a master at raising people's hopes? If you plan on letting them fall, you'd best be prepared to catch them."

"Among other things," he said while he gave her hand a squeeze. He slid her headdress down and rested his forehead against hers. "You'll be free to have me purchase gifts for you soon, Maria, do not fear."

"Well, then you'd better hope that I'm not similar to Hildegard when it comes to shopping, yes?" She smiled and let herself be captured by his gaze. It was as if the room melted away from them, that they weren't even in their bodies anymore—just two souls staring into each other.

He leaned in to her, his breath on her lips. Her mouth parted on its own accord as she glanced back and forth between his scar and his eyes. He brushed her bottom lip with a feather-light touch from his knuckles and whispered, "I'll keep my fingers crossed for that," before turning away and climbing out of the Bureau's lattice entrance.

Maria stood in a stupor, her fingers idly tracing her lips, still feeling his touch. Her body buzzed pleasantly—more so than it usually did than from just being in his presence—and she couldn't help the smile on her face grow further.

"Right. Not married, you say? Sure, I believe that."

She jumped and let a flabbergasted sound squeak from her throat. Her face flushed again and she scrounged up whatever dignity she had left to face Butrus, who she had forgotten was still in the room and had seen everything.

Knowing Altair, he was still probably aware of Butrus—_damn _that man, and _damn _herself for not realizing it sooner!

"You were told the truth," she murmured.

He leaned against the counter; his head supported by a palm, and wore a quirky smile as he tried to hide his amusement. His cheeks were tinted pink. "Some say that certain… activities while not in the bonds of wedlock are a sin. I suppose the Master and his woman do not count for that belief."

She gaped and pulled her headdress back on to hide her blush. "Whatever you assume our relationship is—"

"It is indeed a courtship," he mused, pretending not to hear her. "And an interesting one at that. I always knew that he'd find a unique woman—the others didn't think so, but I knew better—and sure enough, here she is. Allah, today must be the most eventful day I've had all year so far."

Maria groaned and scurried away from the man as he still pondered his thoughts aloud, content on hiding herself in the pages of the many scattered books. Even then, a smile still graced her features.

At least until Altair returned, of course; then he'd be in for it.

* * *

Damiel trudged alongside Rauf, occasionally taking a tumble and having to pull himself back up. He could feel the stares from Masyaf's villagers on him as he explored the city; he wished he could be invisible to all of their gapes and murmurs. He'd been walking for hours with Rauf, the man explaining to him that he needed to rebuild his muscles and endure more than just a simple walk around the city.

Damiel's legs were ready to fall off by the time they stopped for breakfast, which felt more like lunch to the boy. Thankfully, Rauf had enough of a heart to stop by a bench protected from the Syrian sun's cruel rays by a tree's foliage. He accepted the bowl of hummus and pita bread Rauf gave him and gobbled it up like a man starved for decades. Rauf watched the boy eat.

"You eat just like your father, too," he chuckled. Damiel glared at him before continuing with his meal. "At least, you eat like him when he was famished after a long day of training."

"I wonder why that is," Damiel mumbled with a mouth full of food. Rauf clicked his tongue and shook his head from the lack of manners. Swallowing the pita back, Damiel took the jug of water from the Assassin.

"He was a good man, your father," Rauf said. Damiel ignored him as he quenched his thirst. "He knew and understood the principles of our Creed without the use of excuses as most of our Brothers do. He knew the truth."

Damiel grunted and corked the lid on the jug, satisfied with his share of water. "I don't believe that."

"Your father was very honorable," Rauf reprimanded.

Damiel waved his hand and rested his elbows on his knees. "What kind of father leaves their son at the mercy of slavers? Oh, but wait; he was _honorable, _so he is excused from that fault. Pardon me, I forgot."

Rauf sighed. "You will learn the truth in time, boy."

"There is no truth to learn with him," Damiel corrected. He slowly stood to his feet, his knees wobbling like a newborn foal trying to stand. "I experienced his lack of affection firsthand, and it is not something I want to remember or delve into again. Nor do I wish to be part of his legacy."

"You don't have a choice in that matter—"

"Yes, I _do," _Damiel growled, storming over to Rauf and jabbing an accusatory finger in his chest. "You may help me regain my strength, have me relearn the art of combat—even make me learn the ways of your people—but you will _never _make me one of you. I, Damiel Karkafian, am _not _an Assassin, and I will _never _be. _That _is my choice in the matter." He turned on his heel and marched back up the slopes, surprising not only himself with how swiftly he made it back to the fortress.

Rauf brushed his robes and looked up to the sky. "He even has your stride, Jenaro." He picked up his feet and followed Damiel.

* * *

Anger boiled through Damiel's blood as he stepped through the courtyard. He saw the training novices stop in their exercises to stare at him. Murmurs filled the fighting ring as Jenaro Karkafian's son passed them. Damiel bit back any foul language he would have enjoyed spewing at them.

He ignored the wondrous comments thrown at him, not believing that the son of a legend stood before them. He _so _wanted to slam his fist into the jaws of those who laughed at the pathetic condition he was in. Their jabs echoed in his mind and made the hair on the back of his neck rise in feral agitation. But he satisfied their taunts by showing them his back and continuing on through the fortress.

Aden lifted his head from a book and sneered at the boy. "My eyes must deceive me, for here stands a boy swooned over like a prince from a fairy tale! Up early, aren't you, Damiel? Is there something wrong with your health?"

Damiel paused and tilted his head, his fingers itching to tighten themselves around Aden's neck and see the life drain from his eyes. He resisted.

"Shouldn't the wounded be in bed, Damiel?" he teased again. Damiel slowly faced him.

"And shouldn't Arabs be wrapping turbans around their heads and covering their wives?" Damiel spat. Aden's eyes showed no offense from the insult. If anything, the man seemed to anticipate the retort.

"Men may do as they please in their home country, boy. You'd do the same if you were in your home—but wait, you don't _have _one. I forgot, how foolish of me."

Damiel felt his limbs moving before he registered what he was even doing. His arm lunged back and then forward toward Aden's face, intent on crushing his skull with blow after blow. His fist stopped midswing as Aden's hand curled around his wrist. The air in the boy's body left him as Aden delivered a swift punch to his chest, then brought a knee into his gut. Damiel fell to the floor, heaving and clutching at his ribs.

"You should have known better, boy. Cripples do not have the upper hand when dealing with the perfectly mobile."

"And the perfectly powerful have the advantage when against the perfectly mobile."

Aden turned his head toward the stairs in the foyer, blanching as Hildegard approached him with Malik in tow. The one-armed man raised an eyebrow at the display before him, keeping his opinion to himself.

Hildegard lightly stepped toward Aden, her hands folded delicately in front of herself. "Wouldn't you agree, Master Aden? Or is the concept too hard for you to understand?"

Aden took a step away from her, his muscles tensing as lines formed around his mouth. Hildegard patiently waited for an answer, her face one of peaceful contentment. He opened his mouth to speak, but made no sound.

She smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. "Poor dear, I understand. Go and see to your sister now; I'm sure your darling sibling is in need of your company. I heard a novice has been pestering her all day. Your large frame is needed there, not here."

Aden bowed his head and walked away with a heavy gait, as if his legs were made of lead. Hildegard watched him with a smile. When he finally left the room, she scowled and trotted over to Damiel.

Malik stopped her just as she was about to kneel by the boy's side. The Assassin shook his head and ushered her away from him when he saw Rauf jog into the foyer. Hildegard looked at Malik, then at Rauf, understanding slowly dawning upon her fair face. Malik walked her out of the foyer and into the garden.

Rauf knelt beside Damiel. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, concern etched into his face from hearing the boy writhing. "My boy, what has happened—"

"I'll show you," he snarled as he turned to face Rauf. He had hit his face against the stone floor, his lip busted and blood coated over his mouth. "I'll _prove _it to you!"

"What—"

"I'm _not _like him—will _never _be like him! I'll show you. I'll wake every morning before the others, I'll make it happen! I'll be stronger than him, I'll be faster than him, I'll have more knowledge than him! I, too, will know the truth!"

Rauf blinked, not knowing what to say to the boy's declarations. Damiel stood to his full height and looked down at Rauf.

"I'll prove it to everyone in this fortress—give them something other than myself to laugh at. I will _work _until sweat cakes my body, until I feel each pore crawl with weariness and exhaustion. Until life leaves this body, I will _make _myself.

"You'll see, old man, you'll see, and when you compare me to my father afterward, you will never be able to tell that I am his son because I will be _better _than him. I swear it on my mother's grave that you will be proved wrong."

Rauf stood, his face neutral of expression. "And how do you plan on accomplishing this all on your own? Surely, you will need a teacher."

"Then teach me," Damiel lowly said as he took a step closer to him so that their eyes were level. "Teach me as how my father learned. Be my guide and show me an Assassin's way of life."

* * *

Maria reclined on the pile of cushions just outside of Butrus' office, forcing to keep her tired eyes open as she read book after book. It amazed her just how much she learned of pottery, Butrus' favorite hobby and career he tended to while not busying himself with keeping his novices in line, and it amazed her even more of how _boring _the craft was.

Butrus had even showed her how to make a bowl (she kept toppling whatever pot or vase she attempted to make), and when she continued to make irregular, oblong shapes, he resorted to just having her play with wet clay.

That kept her occupied for half an hour, at most.

Now, the sun was setting, and she could hear crickets from outside the Bureau. Butrus had lit lamps and set more cushions and blankets in and out of his office. She cuddled into her pillows, blowing her lips in boredom. Bashshar and Ahmed were probably curious as to why Ghalib and Saraj had not returned from the Saruja yet. Hopefully they had not sent men to look for them—_that _would be difficult to explain.

But Souk Saruja was a grand bazaar, filled with merchants from foreign lands and crawling with customers, guards, and pickpockets. The brothers wouldn't have a chance of finding them.

She couldn't return to the Palace or to the Umayyad Mosque without Altair, though. For Saraj to arrive without Ghalib would arouse suspicion, and the last thing Maria wanted was for Ahmed and his lard-like brother to start snooping around them.

And so, Maria waited. Her eyelids drooped closed, and she could no longer fight the battle of sleep. She curled into a ball on her side, her book long forgotten and discarded in the mountain of pillows, and tucked the blankets around her into a cocoon. When Altair returned from his mission, then she'd unravel from her prison of blankets. Until then, she was happy just to have a moment of shut-eye.

And when he did return, it was pitch black outside, the lamps Butrus lit flickering. Maria shifted in her cocoon, making small sounds as she heard voices from Butrus' office. Her eyes opened one by one, adjusting to the dim lighting in the Bureau. She flexed her shoulders and stretched her legs out, somehow still keeping the blankets around her, as she listened to the two men in the Rafik's office.

"It is strange that they are being so careful with themselves, is it not?"

"To some extent, Butrus. It is difficult to track them down, but once found, they are as boisterous as ever."

"Are they trying to mislead you?"

Altair, his Assassin uniform replaced by Ghalib's attire, sighed and ran a hand over his head, feeling the beginnings of hair regrowth. "They very well may be; I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. Robert used Maria as a decoy after all—perhaps these new Templars learned from him."

Butrus nodded and tidied up his counter to the best of his ability. "And so what will you do? You've learned very little, Altair, and it is very late. Will you pursue this vague lead tonight?"

The Master of Assassins thought it over in his mind for a few minutes before replying, "No, I do not think it wise for me to go off on a tangent with this. I will leave it to your men to learn anything new. All I know is that Clarence is not the only Templar in Damascus. Apparently, he has a bodyguard with him. An Armenian, I believe."

"Strange for Armenia to bring themselves into others' problems, is it not?" Butrus rubbed his chin. "They usually prefer to sneak a hand in here and there while watching from the sidelines."

Altair shrugged. "The Templars most likely struck a deal with Levon."

"If so, then we have even more on our plate than we started with." Butrus offered a small smile. "It seems these conspiracies continue to deepen their webs."

"I would rather not think of it at the moment, Butrus. It seems impossible to find a solution."

"Then what will you do now? The last time I checked, she was sleeping. I'm not sure it'd be best to take her to the souk toady. Perhaps tomorrow would be better?"

Altair and Butrus looked through the office's door and at the woman huddled in the blankets and pillows, seemingly still fast asleep. Butrus smiled from the fond look on the other man's face, murmuring another comment about marriage as Altair excused himself.

Altair sat beside Maria, making himself comfortable in the cushions, and sighed as he gave his legs a rest. He pulled her so that her head rested on his chest, and toyed with a lock of hair near her ear. "I know you're awake," he murmured.

She did not move or make a sound.

He chuckled with good humor. "You grunt when you sleep, Maria; you're awake."

Caught, she opened her eyes to give him a look that clearly stated he had ruined her fun. "At least I do not snore."

He waited until she thought she had won their little bout before saying, "Sometimes you do, too."

She rolled her eyes. "Lying will not make you victorious, Altair."

"That is very true, but it was not a lie." He moved his arms to bring her closer to him, but let them fall to his sides as she edged away from the motion. He stared at his boots.

"Will we make our way to Bashshar and Ahmed now? We've been away for a while, Altair," she said in hopes of salvaging their conversation.

"I thought you wanted to see Souk Saruja?"

"It's dark, now, and—"

He stood and helped her to her feet, grinning from her confused expression. "Everyone in Damascus knows that Saruja is the most exciting at night, Maria."

"Everyone but me, apparently," she deadpanned.

"Then let us change that, shall we?"

* * *

He was correct, as he was most times. The Saruja Souk was alive with every shade of color breathing and moving as one. The roar of buyers and sellers echoed off of the dome ceiling. Maria locked her arm around Altair's, keeping pace with him as he escorted her through the bazaar.

Dyes, necklaces, earrings, carpets, clothes, wraps, nuts, ingredients, herbs, spices, flowers, fish, ayran, ores, tools—everything could be found in the Great Souk. Maria, somehow being able to pull the scent of lahmajoun from the different smells around her, quickly led Altair to the stall selling it.

"Will you be able to hold it down this time?"

She inclined her head as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She munched on the lahmajoun, hoping he wouldn't expect an answer from her. She forced herself to finish her food, though she hardly found it appetizing anymore.

He cleared his throat and led her through the souk, cursing himself for bringing up such a sensitive topic. Though she still felt shame for barfing on him—as anyone would—he knew it was their small conversation prior to her illness that affected her the most.

He let himself be lured to stalls as the merchants called out to him, waving their hands and gesturing toward their products. He'd do anything to distract her from his stupid question and to have that smile back on her face.

"Finest silks in all the lands!"

"Clothes that rival those of kings!"

"Rugs of the finest quality and soft to the touch!"

"Finely crafted jewelry for your wives, sisters, daughters!"

He browsed the stalls, hoping that she'd find interest in one of the products. Her eyes swept over the items on display, not finding anything that piqued her interest. He shot the merchants glowers when they scowled at the woman not pleased with their wares before leading her to another stall.

"Would you like to look at ores for Rauf? He said that he was short on a few, did he not?"

Maria shook her head. "I do not know which ones he requires."

Altair bobbed his head, not knowing what else that would please her. She wasn't enjoying herself anymore. The awe and wonder that filled her eyes when they first set foot in the bazaar had vanished, replaced by a focused, contemplating look. He wanted to kick himself.

He was just about to purchase a random item to satisfy Ahmed's and Bashshar's curiosity and bring her back to the Palace, but she stopped him as her fingers latched onto his sleeve. He turned to look at her and followed her gaze to a small stand.

A few men sat behind their stall, tuning and polishing their wares. Maria strode toward them, almost as if she floated there in a daze, and examined the instruments. Altair followed her, holding his breath.

She ran her fingers over the instruments, smiling from the feel of the fine wood.

One of the merchants looked up from their work. "That is a duduk, my lady, imported from Armenia herself."

"Armenia?" Altair raised his eyebrows at this. "Why travel north for something we are able to craft in Syria?"

Another merchant laughed and drummed his fingers against a darbuka. "We are from Armenia, good man, and our business travels wherever we travel. A duduk's home is in Armenia, as we were the first to craft them."

Maria smiled at the men, curious about the different instruments they held. "Would you mind playing something? Or are you not musicians, just merchants?"

The men looked at each other, juggling the idea around in their heads. "It is very late, and we usually receive a crowd from our music in the afternoon, my lady."

Her eyes fell and she forced a small smile. "I understand, good men." She looked them all in the eye. "It is a good thing you do by playing these instruments. Music has a way of communicating with people that words cannot. Even the smallest note brings joy to someone."

The musicians shifted in their seats, sharing glances between themselves before looking at the man behind their kind customer. The blaze in his eyes quickly had them make up their minds. "Well," one of them—the bravest one—began, "it'd be a sin to not play music for the pretty lady, would it not?" He motioned for the others to gather their instruments and stand.

Her eyes shimmered with delight. She met Altair's eyes for a brief moment, knowing all too well of the silent threat he'd given them, and mouthed the words _thank you. _

He held her hand in response as they listened to the musicians.

The darbuka started first, drumming a simple tune and setting the pace for the piece. Several heads turned toward the couple watching the musicians, and more of Damas' citizens stopped their actions as the duduk's haunting voice accompanied the drum.

And finally, the oud voiced its own tune with the others.

The cacophony of voices in the Saruja died down until only hushed whispers could barely be heard underneath the entwined blanket of instruments.

She gazed at him, their eyes burning with something unspoken but translated with each breath, each note, and each sound made from the crafts and their handlers.

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she answered him. She brought their weaved hands to her mouth and kissed the space where a finger should have been.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with the tenderness of someone tending to the most delicate of flowers—someone carefully brushing their fingers over petals of silk. They closed their eyes and leaned their foreheads against each other's, savoring the moment for everything it was worth.

The duduk continued to whisper her forlorn melody.

* * *

"Ah, there you two are!" Ahmed rushed over to the couple entering the Palace's courtyard. "The other merchants and I were worried, Ghalib; we thought that something had happened to you! You missed the meeting as well, I'm afraid, but I will brief you in on it in the morning."

Ghalib inclined his head. "Apologies, Ahmed, for my tardiness and for troubling you and your guests. It will not happen again."

Ahmed smiled and waved his hand in refusal. "There is no need for any of that, friend. As long as you two are both safe—" His breath caught in his throat as his eyes passed over Saraj. Her eyes were red, but she seemed at peace with herself. His eyes drifted lower to the finely chiseled box in her hands that absorbed her attentions.

The merchant cleared his throat. "I trust Souk Saruja was worth the trip? You did not purchase much, Ghalib."

Ghalib grunted a 'yes'. "As alive and well as ever, the souk. There was much to see there, Ahmed."

"And to learn there," Saraj whispered, her eyes never leaving the box. Ahmed tried meeting Ghalib's eye, still curious of his wife's behavior.

"If you do not mind, Ahmed," Ghalib said, "Saraj and I would like to retire to the Umayyad. We both need rest. The Great Souk knows how to wear a person down."

"Of course, of course!" Ahmed assured. "I wish you both a good night—" He clamped his mouth shut when the two of them were already walking away from him.

There was something different about Ghalib and his wife. Ahmed was determined to discover just what had transpired between them.

'_Hopefully something pleasant,' _he thought.

* * *

"You bought it, yet you do not know how to play it?"

Maria shrugged and unlatched the lid on the case with adept fingers. "It is a beautiful instrument," she breathed out as she outlined the duduk. "Damiel knows how to play it."

"Does he?" Altair sat on the cushions across from her, watching every movement she made.

She nodded, still tracing the little instrument. "He played it once before for me. It was… while we were still in the Crusades." She let the sentence hang in the air before adding, "He composed his own music whenever he could."

"He's probably out of practice, then."

Maria uttered a small laugh. "Most people misplace their talents when not nurturing them." She looked at him.

He shook his head in agreement. Silence floated between them as he met her eyes. He cleared his throat and stood. "You should sleep, Maria. Ahmed and Bashshar probably have tomorrow mapped out for us already."

"Hm," she murmured, returning to the task of analyzing her duduk. She looked up to bid him goodnight, but sucked in her breath as his face loomed but an inch from hers.

He leaned his body toward hers, and she instinctively crawled backward, supporting herself on her elbows. He wrapped an arm around her, keeping her from falling back, and brought her closer to him so their bodies touched. He snaked his hand up her back and to her neck.

Her eyes shot wide as she felt him fumble with the fabric, and she gasped as he cradled his head on her shoulder. He breathed against her neck, his lips touching the sensitive flesh but not caressing it.

Maria's arms wrapped around his torso—for support, she told herself. But no matter how tight she held him, it did not stop him from pulling away.

"Good night," he breathed into her ear. And then his weight was off of her, his person gone from her quarters.

Her chest heaved as she panted, trying to regain her breath and trying to make sense of what had just happened. She placed a hand over her heart to steady her breathing. Her fingers met the fabric of her _jalabiya_. She frowned and felt around the neckline of her dress.

The necklace that Ahmed had bought for her was gone.

* * *

_"You've been missed, Sarko," King Levon said from his throne._

_Tagvoryan bowed. "Templars are very demanding people, my king."_

_"So they are, so they are," Levon chuckled. "I trust you've already said your hellos to Rita?"_

_Tagvoryan straightened from his bow and shook his head. "I have not seen your daughter at all today, my king. I hope she is well."_

_Levon swatted his hand. "When is she never well? She has servants to order, jewelry to try on, clothes to wear, and cosmetics to experiment with. She is a very happy girl, Sarko."_

_Tagvoryan inclined his head. "_Ayo, _she must be very satisfied in the palace." Levon frowned from his tone. Tagvoryan sighed. "Forgive me for the request, but may I speak plainly?"_

_"We have been friends since birth, Sarkis. You should know better than to ask me that."_

_Sarkis swallowed. "Then you should know better than to tell me lies of your daughter's welfare. We both are aware that she is unhappy in the castle, _takavor. _She wishes the grant of more permission to wander the outdoors. She has potential to be a very skilled falconer, and only needs your say to further her hobby."_

_Levon scoffed and reclined in his throne. "Ah, yes. It is very difficult to forget how unladylike she is. But that will no longer be a problem, Sarko."_

_"And why is that? Have you punished her once more?"_

_The King of Armenia glared at his most trusted friend. "If marriage is a punishment, then yes."_

_The news startled Tagvoryan, but he hid it well with a blank face. "That is a shame. To whom?"_

_"That does not concern you or the reasons for your visit, now does it?" Levon smirked when Tagvoryan bowed. "My friend, please, straighten your back. There is no need for that formality in my presence. No, you know why you were summoned here."_

_"Is it that Templar again?"_

_"_Ayo, _Clarence Lyon. To complete our agreement of alliance, he requires something I value of worth in his possession to guarantee my cooperation."_

_"Have you requested the same from him?"_

_"Of course, Sarkis. That is why Rita is marrying into a country allied to Clarence's cause."_

_"With your daughter gone, what do you plan to give him?"_

_"Not _what, _Sarko, but _who. _I am assigning you the position of his henchman, Tagvoryan. You've seen battle and experienced combat before. I put more trust in you than I do in my generals."_

_Tagvoryan frowned. "But surely your generals are more experienced and know how to protect better than I!" Memories of Yeva flashed through his mind, and he banished them with a steel fist._

_"My generals know how to boast their skills and experiences, Sarko. You prefer modesty and shadows. All I require of you is to prove to Clarence that you are capable and dependable while guarding his person. Those eyes of yours have always seen what others cannot."_

_Sarkis lowered his head and breathed through his nose. "When will you have me leave?"_

_"At once," Levon purred with a contented smile. "You will be traveling with several of our merchants selling instruments to douse the flames of suspicion."_

_"And where will I be stationed?"_

_"You will return to Damascus, Sarko. I hope your travels are devoid of misfortune, my good friend."_

_Tagvoryan dropped to one knee in another bow before exiting the throne room._

_"And Sarko?"_

_He looked over his shoulder at his king._

_Levon lifted his chin high in the air. "Do _not _flaw this mission."_

_Tagvoryan stooped, then rid himself of his king's presence, of the castle, and of Sis._

_And down the Cilician Gates he went, Yeva's voice returning to claw at his mind._

* * *

**As promised, here's the rest of the author's note. While writing the scene of Altair and Maria listening to music, I was watching this Yanni video (link will not work, so type this into the youtube search bar) 'Yanni Prelude & Nostalgia'. Those of you who listen to or have listened to Yanni know how this man is a genius and how beautiful the music is. And yes, if you can't tell, music is a huge part of my life, though I have never played the duduk (but I want to).**

Translations:

Armenian:

_Takavor: _King

_Ayo: _Yes

Spanish:

_Eres un perro con no genitales: _You are a dog without genitals.

_niño: _boy

Arabic:

_Salam: _Hello (informal)

**FF, Fun Fact: Tagvoryan is addressed as both 'Sarkis' and 'Sarko'. Sarkis is his first name, while Sarko is a nickname for Sarkis. Just to clear that up. And I'm sorry if you're sick of me putting all this Armenian jazz into my stories, but hey, I'm half Armenian, so it is not going to change.**


	32. Chapter 26

**Alright, now can I have a head count of who's gasping and squawking with excitement from seeing an update, and of who's screaming at the computer, wondering why in the name of Sasquach did this woman take 2 months to update? Eheheh... I'll explain at the bottom. Disclaimer, disclaimer, blah blah blah, read and enjoy.**

* * *

Damiel lowered his aching body on a bench, his head bowed as he panted and gulped down air. Sweat trickled down his brow and neck, the sun mercilessly glaring down at him. His muscles throbbed from Rauf's ceaseless training, and his limbs felt like useless planks of wood. Damiel lolled his tongue and almost gagged as sweat dripped into his mouth. He had always hated the sickly sweet taste of perspiration, and to taste it after such hard work that demanded every ounce of strength in his weak body—

He swore beneath his breath.

If he had any energy left in his abused self, he'd march off, find Rauf, and wallop him one right over the head. A wheezy chuckle escaped his lips just from the thought of himself performing the act.

With his eyes pointed at the grass, he couldn't see the man standing in the Garden's courtyard, mending and inspecting their wooden training swords.

If Rauf even dared to take a small peek at him, Damiel wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the urge to rip the Assassin's throat out. He felt the faintest of raw fury trickle through his veins when Rauf walked past him.

But Damiel was too exhausted to even lift his head to acknowledge his leave, but heard the man's admirable murmurs of 'The Karkafian, The Karkafian!. How quaint. He was a celebrity now, his only fan being Rauf.

The boy's knees groaned as he leaned back and lounged against the bench. He winced when his spine creaked and cracked. Maybe he'd find Hildegard later on and ask her for a massage.

Damiel whimpered. That would mean he'd have to heave his lethargic self up, spend hours just trying to find the flittering woman, risk the possibility of partaking in her gossip session (either as the topic or as a participant), and either beg, coo, or woo her to relieve his beaten up back.

No, a nice, twenty-four hour nap was all he wanted before Rauf decided to torture him again. He closed his eyes, content in indulging himself with this wish, and drifted off. He wasn't sure how long he was asleep, but when he awoke, the sun was setting and Rauf was nowhere to be seen.

_'Gracias a Dios,' _Damiel thought. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rolled his shoulders and shifted on the bench. The cool evening air nibbled at his skin, making the hair on his forearms and calves stand straight up. He exhaled and let his eyes flutter shut. He heard boots crunching on grass, and snapped his eyes open. Standing before him was an Assassin—a novice, by the look of his robes—and the boy carried a basket in his arms.

Damiel narrowed his eyes. Ah, yes, he knew this novice. The chuckling one, if he remembered correctly.

"How long have you been standing there?" Damiel sighed.

Mustafa shrugged and glanced at the basket swaddled in his arms. "Maybe for a few bells, maybe more. Or less."

Damiel leaned forward, wincing when his back whined again. He rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for the novice to continue. When Mustafa still stood there with a childish grin on his face, Damiel huffed. "Why?"

Mustafa chuckled. "I suppose that is the burning question, isn't it?"

"You seem to be full of them," Damiel grumbled.

Eagerly, Mustafa bobbed his head up and down. "Ah, yes, that reminds me!"

Damiel buried his forehead in the palm of his hand. He scrunched his face as he felt the beginnings of acne forming on his skin. He should have bathed the sweat and grime off before falling asleep.

Undeterred by Damiel's obvious disdain, Mustafa chuckled, "Do you like pomegranates, friend?"

"Is this coming from Hildegard? Doesn't she have anything better to do than run her mouth on and on about—" Damiel's hand fell from his face and his eyes lit up as Mustafa pulled out the fruit from his basket. Damiel smiled and shook his head. "Yes, I like pomegranates." He moved over on the bench, and Mustafa sat next to him.

They split their pomegranates open on the edge of the bench. They ripped open the cream-colored flesh of the fruit, digging out the red beads like men discovering a lost treasure.

"Our elders would beat us if they saw us eating like this," Mustafa chuckled.

Damiel rolled his eyes and brushed the comment off with, "They're too old to chew with their mouths closed, anyway. You always know what they're eating since half their food slides down the corners of their mouths." The boys paused and lowered the fruit, glancing at each other. Their mouths were stained with red juice, and soon a fit of laughter exploded from both of them.

"Hopefully they don't eat hummus, then!" Mustafa chuckled.

"Or yellow lentil soup," Damiel added. The boys shared a giggle from this.

"I take it Rauf does not allow many breaks for food?" Mustafa asked as he regained his breath.

Damiel finished chewing and swallowed. He opened his mouth to reply, but then slowly closed it as an idea came to mind. As innocent as the question seemed, he knew that whatever words floated through Mustafa's ears would be heard again in a tribal circle of Assassins. Damiel smirked and vigorously nodded. "No, he starves me and throws twigs at me when he catches me trying to eat the grass when the hunger becomes unbearable."

Mustafa's eyes almost popped out of his skull. "_Really? _That is most awful!"

Damiel nodded and feigned a helpless whine. "It is, isn't it? Poor Damiel must endure torture after torture from Rauf."

"Rauf the Torturer," Mustafa affirmed with a nod. "It sounds fitting." Mustafa's eyebrows rose as he glanced at the boy. "And does Rauf not permit clothes, either?" If Mustafa noticed the burn marks and scars on Damiel's body, he didn't say anything or give any sign that he was repulsed. Damiel was glad.

He looked down at himself and sheepishly shrugged.

"Or is training in undergarments the new appropriate way to exercise?" Mustafa scratched his chin as he pondered this.

"According to Rauf," Damiel began between mouthfuls of pomegranate, " 'clothing is a privilege that you must earn'. Personally? I think he did not want me to sweat to death today due to the heat."

"And was Rauf in his under-clothes, too?"

"No," Damiel shook his head. "Thank God for that—my eyes would have formed the Red Sea."

Mustafa chuckled at this. "_Na'am, _that would be a sight worthy to forget. But you should not fear Rauf's demands."

Damiel scoffed. "He's probably a boy-lover. I've had boy-lovers pine after me before. It was most unpleasant."

Mustafa cleared his throat and uttered a choked chuckle. "Rauf's no Ganymede. " Mustafa looked over his shoulder, making sure they were alone in the Garden. He turned back to Damiel. "Rauf loved—" Mustafa huffed when Damiel was too interested in his pomegranate to pay much mind to him. The Assassin latched onto Damiel's hand and brought it away from his mouth, ignoring the pout aimed toward him.

In a hushed voice, Mustafa explained, "Rauf loved a woman once."

"And? What happened to her? Did she scream and run away from his hairy chest and legs?"

"No," Mustafa curtly replied. "She didn't—who are you to speak of hair? You Armenians are _all _hairy! Even the women."

Damiel shrugged and grinned. "And Arabs aren't?"

"I'm still waiting for my facial hair to arrive," Mustafa confessed. "Not even a single hair on my lip yet."

"It's mutual," Damiel murmured. Mustafa gave his arms and legs a long look before sending the boy a dubious expression.

"Nabil says it's because I laugh like a girl too often," Mustafa finished. "But anyways, _yes, _Rauf used to love someone. But she cannot return his affections."

"And he couldn't have found another woman as his life partner?"

"Oh, she wasn't just _another woman, _friend. Her father was part of a council, if I recall correctly. She had many ties to government and monarchy."

Damiel furrowed his brow and took another handful from his pomegranate. "So she left him?"

"Yes, she did," Mustafa sighed.

"For what? A man with money and power?"

"No," Mustafa cleared his throat. "She died."

Damiel felt like ramming his foot into his mouth. All he could say in reply was a feeble 'oh'. After a few moments of awkward silence, he prompted, "Who was she to him?"

"A wonderful woman, according to the rumors, you see. But she had eyes for another man."

"She never loved Rauf in return?"

"Oh, she did, she did, but as a comrade—a brother, even. But she could not reciprocate the intimate shade of love she possessed for someone else."

His curiosity piqued, Damiel asked, "Did she die with this other man, then? Did she at least have a happy ending?"

Mustafa shrugged and stood from the bench. He stretched his arms out. "Who can say? Only Rauf knows the real story, and he's never spoken a word about her to anyone. Well, maybe to the Master, but even that's unlikely. He may seem to be outspoken and forward, but he's very hesitant to share details of his past."

Damiel thought on this for a moment. "And where is Rauf now?"

"Feeling as if you have a better ground of understanding with him?"

Damiel nodded.

"Probably arguing with Tamam. He's the head trainer," Mustafa added when he saw Damiel's look of confusion. "He replaced Rauf when he was moved to work in the smithy as our blacksmith. As you can probably guess, tension is thick between the two men. Rauf disagrees with Tamam's teaching style, and Tamam is eager to have Rauf keep his nose where it belongs—in the forge."

"So why is it Rauf training me instead of Tamam?"

Mustafa cracked his neck. "Probably to prove a point that Rauf isn't too old to teach new students the art of our ways. But if I understand it correctly, Tamam wants you part of his own class. Rauf's doing his best to keep you from the others. He's protective of you, Damiel. You should feel honored by that. It's very rare for a teacher to take a student in as his own."

"I never asked for Rauf to take me under his wing," Damiel grunted as he crossed his arms.

"But yet you asked him to make you one of us."

"Wrong. I asked him to teach me the Assassins' ways so that I may choose my own life."

Mustafa, sensing the rhetoric in their conversation, shrugged his shoulders again. "Be that as it may, Rauf is protecting you from Tamam. But maybe you'd like to meet my other Brothers?" He watched Damiel as the boy mulled it over in his mind. Mustafa clasped his hand around Damiel's and heaved him to his feet. "A pomegranate will not keep a training novice full for long. Come, dinner is still being served in the fortress."

* * *

Once the boys found a robe to dress Damiel in, as Damiel had no doubt that he'd ruin any possible decent first impressions if he arrived at the dining hall in nothing but his white under-clothes (does Rauf even _give _the boy clothes?), Damiel followed Mustafa. As they neared a set of double doors, Damiel could hear murmurs and laughter coming from inside.

He swallowed and turned to face Mustafa before they entered. The Assassin gave Damiel a firm pat on the shoulder before pushing the doors open and entering the hall.

The conversations between the Assassins stopped as they eyed the stranger behind Mustafa. Assassins were huddled together in small circles, separated by rank. They sat on cushions, all of them keeping to their respective group, and all of them staring at Damiel as if he was an unknown species.

Among them sat Hildegard surrounded by a group of nosy Assassins—mainly novices. To her left was Rauf, and to her right sat Malik, which Mustafa thought strange. Usually Malik preferred to eat in the study. Maybe someone stole his kibbeh again?

No, that couldn't be it. Mustafa would have known if he was missing his kibbeh. After all, Mustafa was the mastermind behind the disappearances.

Hildegard saw the spooked look in Damiel's eyes. He looked like a horse cornered by breakers trying to lasso it. And judging by the looks of it, Damiel was contemplating whether to bolt out of that dining hall without looking back.

She cleared her throat and placed a hand on Malik's shoulder. "As I was saying," she lilted in a voice loud enough to break the Assassins' scrutinizing glares, "it is absolutely normal for a man to feel inadequate when with a woman, either in conversation, trying to catch her eye in the marketplace, purchasing something for her, or—do forgive me for saying, but it _is _my favorite—in bed."

Multiple heads swiveled in Hildegard's direction, not believing what the woman had just said. Damiel shot Hildegard a grateful look before following Mustafa to a small circle of novices.

"After all," Hildegard continued, "women are the more dominant species."

"Which is why they are always on the bottom," Malik mused as he helped himself to a ball of kibbeh.

"Oh, pish posh!" Hildegard laughed and swatted her hand at him. "I'm sure a great deal of men enjoy bottom-ing, but—oh, don't let anyone else hear me say this—they are just too proud to admit it." She stared at Malik, waiting for him to make eye contact with her. When he did, she sang, "You yourself seem like you'd enjoy being topped, Malik. Shame on pride for you lying to yourself."

Malik closed his eyes while Rauf choked on his food.

Mustafa ushered Damiel to a huddle of Assassins and motioned for the others to make room for them. The novices gave Damiel a suspicious look before shifting over.

Even while sitting, Damiel could still hear murmurs as to who Mustafa's unfamiliar company was. From his peripheral vision, Damiel saw heads turning to look at him.

"We missed you today during the archery session, Mustafa," Rakin said as he took a drink of ayran. "You should have seen it! Tamam snapped a bow in half when none of us could hit the centers of the targets."

Mustafa chuckled and plucked two pitas from the table in the middle of their small circle. He gave one of them to Damiel. "Did you hit the targets anywhere else?"

"The edges of them," Rakin murmured. He blushed red from embarrassment. "Well, Nabil did. I hardly nicked a target. We could have used you to ease Tamam's temper."

"Forgive me, Rakin. I was preoccupied today," Mustafa said. He gave his friend's arm a squeeze.

"Oh, that is most obvious," Nabil grunted. He hadn't touched his food since Mustafa and his little friend joined them, and had kept his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at Damiel. "Nice of you to make a new acquaintance, Mustafa. Maybe next time you could remember your other comrades in time to make your lesson?"

Mustafa glanced at Damiel. He had his head hung, his curls falling in front of his face. From the angle that Mustafa had, he could see Damiel's face red with restrained rage. He didn't want to see how much longer his new friend could hold in his emotions.

"Damiel, this is Rakin, and this is Nabil," Mustafa gestured respectively between the two novices. "Rakin, Nabil, I would very much appreciate it if you allowed me to introduce you to Damiel, son of Jenaro—"

"We know very well as to who _he _is," Nabil interrupted. He spat, "The entire fortress knows the fairy tale as to how Jenaro Karkafian's legacy has returned to Masyaf. It's also widely known that he's receiving private lessons from Rauf."

Damiel shuddered and looked over his shoulder at Rauf. Rauf was discussing something with Malik—Hildegard putting her two coins in every few seconds—but the man sitting to Malik's right caught his attention. He was a stern looking Assassin, his face sharp and pointed like an eagle's beak. Scars interrupted and crisscrossed over his beard.

Damiel found the man's eyes locked onto him, and judging by the angry and possessive look on the man's face, could only guess as to who he was.

"Why does Tamam not train him? Is he too unique to train with us?" Nabil stared Damiel down with a challenging look.

Damiel turned back to Nabil just as Mustafa answered with, "Come now, Nabil. He's faced many hardships lately, and Rauf is only preparing him to join our sessions. That's all."

"More like grooming him to rise faster in rank than us," Nabil growled. Rakin shrunk from his place next to him. "What's his choice of weapon? He doesn't have the arms of an archer like you do, Mustafa."

"Maybe he prefers daggers and swords?" Rakin suggested.

"The dagger over the sword," Nabil sneered. "A sword is much too long for him."

A spark flashed in Damiel's eyes as he took a sip of ayran. Mustafa gulped and offered a chuckle to calm the situation. Nabil was relentless, though.

"Or maybe a toothpick, even? Yes, I can see you having a toothpick—"

"Spear," Damiel said as he brought his eyes to Nabil's. "I use long, pointy, _spears." _

"_Ohh, _a pikeman!" Rakin squeaked out excitedly. "We don't have many of those here, do we? I think he's our first, actually."

"Really," Nabil challenged. "A spear. Well, where is it, then? How much coaxing do you need to display it?" He leaned toward Damiel and hissed, "Or does it take too much time that you give up?"

"Nabil, enough," Mustafa sighed. "You're making us look like fools, Brother. If you're so interested in his genitals, maybe you should ask him to remove his robe instead of beating around the bush."

Nabil's face flushed and Damiel smirked at him. Rakin giggled and elbowed Nabil, but cowered when he glowered down at him. Furious, and not wanting to spend one more moment in the company of this Damiel Karkafian, Nabil stood and stormed out of the dining hall.

Damiel, sharing a mischievous glance with Mustafa, leaned back and called after him, "_Oyé! _So should we make it noon tomorrow for you to coax my spear out? Or are you going to be busy wooing someone else's instead of mine?"

Nabil didn't even bother looking back as he marched off. Laughter rang out from a few Assassins, but mainly Hildegard's guffaws were heard above all the chuckles and giggles.

"That's my Damiel for you, gentlemen," she laughed. "That's Maria's Damiel." From across the room, Damiel and Hildegard shared a knowing grin.

He regretted seeing Tamam glaring at Rauf. Rauf's chest was puffed out, his chin lifted in pride.

* * *

From the corner of his eye, Ghalib watched Ahmed speaking with Saraj. She seemed to be enjoying herself as she partook in conversation with the merchant. How she managed to keep that interested look on her face as Ahmed explained the times of year most appropriate for catching fish, Ghalib would never know.

He sighed and continued to pretend to inspect the wares laid out in the Palace's courtyard. To him, all the vases set on the table seemed perfectly fine. He'd never been a man for decoration, nor one that would demand the best of the best in quality, so he found himself flabbergasted. According to Ahmed, most of the vases and pots were approved of to send to the market stalls, but some were defected.

Altair rolled his eyes. To him, as long as it served its purpose, there weren't any faults. But _oh no, _the world of mercantilism was a bizarre wilderness where _everything had to be just so. _

Women, apparently, fell into that category as well.

His eyes narrowed at Ahmed, knowing that with Saraj's back to him, he knew fully well that Saraj's husband was sending him a warning. As if Saraj could feel Altair's eyes on her back, she bid Ahmed goodbye and moved away to admire the vases.

Ahmed moved toward Ghalib and sidled up next to the man.

"You are forgiven," Ghalib stated.

Ahmed frowned and shook his head. "Nothing of that nature is occurring between us, Master Ghalib. I respect you and your wife too greatly to try to steal her away."

"I never detected any competition, Ahmed." Ghalib returned to inspecting the vases.

Ahmed followed him. "She is not of our culture, is she?"

Ghalib froze momentarily, wondering how Ahmed could have possibly known that. Maria's accent was plausible—he even forgot time to time what her real voice sounded like.

"It's in her eyes," Ahmed said. He took one of the vases from the table and began looking it over. "The color is rare in the Levant, as you probably already know, and her features are different than other Arabic women's." He showed the vase to Ghalib and traced the pattern beneath the depicted figures on it with a finger. "Beautiful, isn't it? Imported from Greece."

Ghalib glanced at the vase, then turned his eyes back to his own. "She is of… a unique heritage. Multiple ones, actually."

"Oh?" Ahmed did not take his eyes off of the pattern. "Would you mind my guesses?"

"Of course not."

"I would say Spanish for her dark hair. A Nordic heritage of European for her eyes. But for her accent, definitely from the Levant."

"Interesting assumptions," Ghalib mused. "From her maternal grandmother's side, she has some Spanish and other form of European in her. When they came over to the Middle East during the Crusades, European blood mixed with Arabic and Armenian."

"Armenian?" Ahmed asked. He blinked and looked over at Saraj across the courtyard. He leaned toward Ghalib and whispered, "She must tweeze a considerable amount, then."

"Not enough for my standards," Ghalib replied evenly. Ahmed briefly scowled, then motioned toward his vase again.

"Greek pottery has always fascinated me. Usually items imported from countries further west intrigue the merchants here, but I've always found that the Greeks know how to stand apart from the crowd. Look at the pronounced anatomy they study and draw! Can you name any other country that has such unique art? Men pass their eyes over Greek work, not taking the time to truly _see _and say to themselves, 'I like this,' or 'I _want _that.'"

Ahmed sighed and placed the vase back on the table. "A shame, isn't it?" He smiled, the somber atmosphere shattered, and clasped Ghalib on the shoulder. "A good day to you, Ghalib. I will see you at our meeting shortly." Ahmed left and walked back inside the Palace.

Ghalib exhaled and shoved his vase onto the table. He rubbed his forehead. _Damn _Ahmed for trying to make himself out to be the better man, and damn him for lusting after Saraj. Ahmed posed a potential risk to his and Saraj's true identities, and if either of them were found out—

He didn't want to think of what would happen to Maria if he wasn't there to protect her.

Ghalib squared his shoulders, intent on joining the other merchants inside the Palace, but was stopped as a hand fell upon his shoulder. He tensed, ready to tackle whoever was behind him, but the sultry voice whispering in his ear halted any action from him.

Because he knew that voice all too well.

"My husband's frown can be seen from even the farthest corner in this courtyard. Why is this so?"

Altair turned his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat as steel-blue gazed up into hazel. Maria had her hand curled around his shoulder, her body flush against his side. His hip pressed against the cloth between her legs, and she rubbed her thigh against the back of his.

He licked his lips and managed to say, "Your husband finds Ahmed to be a nuisance and thorn in his side."

"Is that so?" Maria stood on tiptoe and kissed him right below the ear. The peck was so soft that he wasn't even sure if it was a kiss or just his imagination. "And why does Ahmed trouble your mind?"

His breath hitched as Maria flicked her tongue over his ear lobe. "Ahmed tries to claim what is not rightfully his." He felt her free hand slither across his waist and up to his chest. His eyes darted around the courtyard and found themselves to be completely alone.

"And what is the merchant trying to steal, I wonder?" Her fingers searched his chest until they found what they were looking for. She rubbed his nipple through the fabric of his tunic and lightly moved her hips against him.

Altair tried to twist his body so that that ever-lovely piece of heaven between her legs would rub against something other than his hip—a something that was quickly rising and in need of a feminine hold. But her hand on his shoulder kept him from obliging.

He grunted and looked back at her. He lowered his head, encouraged when she leaned up to meet his lips with her own. His eyes closed and he moved his hand to wrap around her waist to hold her tighter to himself.

But his mouth did not meet hers, nor did his hand touch her. He staggered as he almost fell over, and snapped his eyes open. His fists clenched at his sides and a needy smirk formed on his lips. She was halfway across the courtyard and threw her head over her shoulder to give him her own sneer. He made to go after her, but the enormous, jiggling blubber known as Bashshar came rolling in the direction Maria was coming from.

Altair never knew it was possible to have an erection shrivel up so quickly nor so suddenly, but when Bashshar's round, quadruple-chinned face came into view, he felt his penis almost curl inside his crotch.

And from the distance, he could hear faint traces of laughter.

_Maria's _laughter.

* * *

"How's our boy, Benjamin?" Hildegard leaned against the railing beside the veteran, following his gaze out at the tiled center in the Garden.

Benjamin scratched his beard. "There is definite improvement in his skills with a sword. For some reason, he never could accustom his arm to the swing of it. But I see progress, Hildegard."

She bobbed her head and watched as Rauf sidestepped one of Damiel's attacks and slapped the boy behind the legs with his wooden training sword. She smiled. "Rauf's a good teacher. Very patient, very knowledgeable."

"His muscle's returning, too. Slowly, but surely." Benjamin grinned when Hildegard rested her head on his shoulder. "He'll bounce back, my dear. All he needs is time."

"Aye," Hildegard agreed. "I'm elated that it's Rauf training him instead of that pinecone-nosed man. Tamam's his name, isn't it?"

"That may be the situation as of now," Malik said as he joined the two at the railing, "but Tamam's persistence has yielded some results."

Benjamin quickly excused himself when a disgusted look appeared on Malik's face. Hildegard squeezed Benjamin's hand before he went back inside the fortress.

"And these results are?" she asked.

"Soon the boy will have to join the other novices under Tamam's teachings." Before Hildegard could voice her disapproval of the idea, Malik held his hand up. "I know it is not what you want for the boy, but as the advisor to the Master, I cannot allow our fortress to be divided just because of one person."

Hildegard huffed and looked over at Damiel. He had fallen flat on his bottom, and Rauf was helping the boy back onto his feet. "He is not my charge, Malik," Hildegard said. "Maria's responsible for him."

Malik nodded. "And like how I must offer my guidance when the Master is absent, you must take Maria's place when she is not available."

Hildegard grumbled and drummed her fingers against the railing. "Is there no other way? You were there in the dining hall; you saw how your Brothers murmured amongst each other and stared at him like he was a damned intruder."

Malik clicked his tongue and placed his hand on hers to stop the annoying bad habit. She didn't pull away from him. "Think over this, Hildegard. Keeping him from the Brothers will not fully show him the Hashshashin's lifestyle. He needs to see the family we raise in the fortress and know the men beneath the hood.

"And Tamam is a good trainer. He might not be the kindest, but he knows the art of combat just as well as Rauf."

Rauf had paused the lesson for a five minute water break.

Hildegard rested her chin in her palm and pouted. "Must you be so reasonable, Malik? Sometimes I wonder about you."

A smug grin twisted on his lips. "It comes with being a bottom-er."

Damn the man, and _damn it, _for what seemed like forever, Hildegard blushed.

* * *

Two weeks later…

Damiel pulled his boots on and rose from his bed. He still slept in the infirmary, and it had become a haven for him to either mull over his training sessions or to hide from Rauf. Asiya, though the woman was brutish in every sense of the word, didn't mind his occupancy at all. She never engaged in deep conversation with him, but had taken a liking to him nonetheless, and brought him fresh baklava from dinner on occasion.

He'd taken to eating with Mustafa and Rakin, and had found a companion in Rakin. He was terribly shy and reserved, but a good listener and kind soul. Nabil refused to sit with them during meals and chose to glare Damiel down at a distance.

Today was the start of a new beginning for Damiel. A horrible beginning, to say the least. When Rauf was told that Damiel would be moved to Tamam's division, the blacksmith extended their lessons and shortened their breaks.

But now Damiel was leaving Rauf's nest. As he stepped through the fortress and neared the doors leading to the courtyard, he couldn't help but feel like a sheep running full speed into a pack of wolves.

He swallowed. He hadn't seen neither hide nor tail of Mustafa and Rakin, but hoped to God that he'd find them in the courtyard. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and pulled open the doors to the courtyard.

The perimeter of the training ring was filled with small clusters of Assassins. From the looks of their robes, they were all novices. He slowly walked down the slope that led to the ring. Panic zipped through him as he couldn't tell Mustafa and Rakin apart from the groups; they all had their hoods up.

Damiel gave a mental slap to himself and gritted his teeth. He wouldn't make Maria proud if he acted like a scared ninny. He took his place beside the Assassins as they lined up for the instructors. He was horribly aware that he stood out like a sore thumb in the mob of white robes. He wore dark shalwars and tunic, and scolded himself for not asking Mustafa to steal a pair of the novice robes for him.

Tamam paced down the line, his hands folded behind his back as he silently took attendance. Damiel watched as how the Assassins closest to him held their breath in—fear? worry? shame?

A sinister smirk splayed on Tamam's face when he caught sight of Damiel. Damiel narrowed his eyes at the man, not liking the conniving look in his eyes. He'd have to speak with Rauf later. He glanced up at the fortress and saw Rauf and Malik leaning against the railings. Damiel made eye contact with his former teacher, and hoped that that was an encouraging smile Rauf gave him.

But knowing Rauf, it could have been a grimace. The man made the most amusing expressions from Damiel's insistent usage of foul language. Like that one time how he compared a woman to a brick—

Tamam, having seen where Damiel was looking, paced back over to the boy and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at him. He turned his head this way and that, as if inspecting livestock. He jerked his hand away from the boy and sneered, as if finding fault with him. He moved down the line.

Damiel rubbed his chin. "I don't suppose he's that way while with women, is he?" he murmured aloud.

The novices beside him gave him fearful looks. "You watch yourself in Tamam's presence, newcomer. He does not hesitate to punish."

Damiel raised his eyebrows at this. A smirk slowly formed on his lips as a devious thought invaded his mind. "What more can happen to me?"

* * *

Ghalib followed the other merchants into the dimly lit courtyard. He instinctively embraced his gift and scanned the room for any potential threats. Deeming it safe, he closed his eyes and willed the gold tint to his eyes to withdraw.

Saraj had retired to the Umayyad already and was sound asleep. With both Bashshar and Ahmed present, Ghalib did not have to worry over either man paying her a surprise night-time visit.

Incense floated into the sky, and cushions had been scattered around in the courtyard. Hookahs were carried out by servants and placed down next to the cushions for the merchants.

Altair frowned. Other feasts that Ahmed and Bashshar held were not quite like this. Perhaps this was a special convention? Regardless of whatever it was, he sat down next to the others, listening to all of the sounds around him. Underneath the merchants' murmurs and occasional chuckles, he could only hear the soft trickling of water from the central fountain and the distant commotion from the Saruja.

Nothing out of the ordinary, but yet he could not help but feel as if something was askew. His eyes flew back over to Bashshar and Ahmed, making sure that the brothers wouldn't try to sneak off to the Umayyad. The thought of their hands on Maria made his blood boil.

After sharing a word with his brother, Ahmed approached the fountain with a goblet in hand. Bashshar lowered his rotund self onto multiple cushions. An image of a sultan seating his corpulent behind on a palanquin carried by struggling and sweating men came to Altair's mind, and he had to subtly cover his mouth to hide his smile.

Ahmed filled his cup with water from the fountain and turned to address his guests.

* * *

"Where is Tariq?" Tamam demanded from the line of novices. "All of you are present besides him." Tamam walked down the line, his body poised like a cat prowling after prey. He stopped in front of a boy trying to curl into himself. Tamam looked down at the boy. "Where is he?"

The novice squeaked and shuffled his feet nervously. Damiel craned his neck in front of him to have a better look. He sighed when he recognized the novice to be none other than Rakin.

"Well?" Tamam hissed when Rakin did not respond. Damiel frowned from Tamam's manners toward Rakin. He didn't like it one bit.

Rakin jumped and hugged himself. "H-he said he was feeling ill, Master Tamam, and decided to stay in the barracks to rest," he stuttered. Tamam turned away from him, a grim look on his face. He nodded, as if he expected such a response. The novice next to Rakin placed a hand on his shaking shoulder to comfort him. Damiel knew it had to be Mustafa.

'Mierda, _they're all the way down there.' _

"Do you all know what is wrong with this picture?" Tamam asked the novices. "No? None of you know?" He frowned at the boys. "Incompetence. Irresponsibility. Lack of effort. Insufficient excuses." He resumed his pacing. "It seems there is a new excuse every day. I ask you why." He looked each of the novices in the eye, their hoods doing nothing to hide them from Tamam's boiling fury. "You call yourselves Hashshashin. You wear our robes, wield our blades. And what do you have to show for it? Absences? Tardiness?"

The sudden urge to act overcame Damiel. He narrowed his eyes at his new instructor, wishing that he'd never complained about Rauf in the first place.

"It is inexcusable," Tamam went on. "It is insulting. None of you know what the words 'dedication' or 'discipline' mean. It is my job to teach you. It is my responsibility to prepare and build your bodies for the world beyond these walls. It is my duty to instill dedication and discipline into you."

Rakin almost fell to his knees. A hush fell over the line, all the novices feeling shame wash over them as Tamam degraded them.

That is, all but one novice.

A wicked smile crept onto Tamam's face from seeing his pupils so distraught, but that smile was swept clean off when a small laugh broke the silence.

Tamam, his eyes bulging and thick eyebrows practically touching his hairline, stalked down the line, hunting down the source of the offensive sound of enjoyment.

Damiel's eyes flicked back and forth between the novices beside him as he continued to laugh. They seemed petrified as Tamam closed in on them. They looked away from Damiel, hoping that Tamam wouldn't associate them with the laughing novice.

Damiel had his head lowered as he chuckled, and all he saw were Tamam's boots in front of him. Slowly, his eyes rose to Tamam's.

"Is there something comical about what I have stated?" Tamam furrowed his brow and grabbed Damiel's chin again, lurching him forward so that their faces were barely inches apart. "I'd know that smile anywhere. Jenaro wore the same expression whenever he thought he was being clever. Tell me, boy, do you think you're clever by interrupting my speech?"

Mustafa and Rakin held their breaths. Nabil triumphantly sneered from his place in the line.

Damiel nodded to the best of his ability, Tamam's hand restricting him from movement.

"Perhaps you would like to share with all of us what is so hilarious. Because I fail to see the humor in this."

Damiel smirked, though with Tamam's talons clenching half of his face, it looked like he ran into a wall. "You said 'duty'," Damiel said matter-of-factly.

Tamam's brow furrowed, the creases formed making him look ten years older. "And you find reason to laugh at this?"

"That's what Bayo does," Damiel explained. "Duty." When Tamam made no comment or sign that he had any idea what the idiot in his grasp was saying, Damiel added, "Maria's dog."

Tamam's eyes flashed from the statement, and gasps rang out from the novices. Damiel saw the promise of punishment for insubordination in the man's eyes, and decided to draw out every bit of glory possible.

"Hunches over," Damiel smiled. Tamam's fingers uncurled from the boy's face, and Damiel took the opportunity to brush past him to face the entire line. "Like this," he explained. He crouched down on all fours. "Puts strain on his back legs, and sometimes grunts when it doesn't come out." He personified his words, and several chuckles sounded from the line. He shot a wink at Rakin.

"And sometimes," Damiel included, "he does this walk, where… where…" He slowly trudged forward, then plopped his bottom on the ground. "Even knows how to do this when he's all done." To the crowd's horror and entertainment, he wiped his bottom on the ground. "Smart dog, isn't he?"

Rakin giggled into his sleeve and leaned against Mustafa as he soon became breathless with laughter.

Damiel grinned and addressed the line again. "But that's only _one _of his duties. Interested in seeing his duty when with a bitch in heat?"

From his place beside Malik, Rauf laughed into the palm of his hand.

* * *

"Friends, friends! Please, your attention is a blessing to me!" Ahmed called over his guests. They eventually quieted and turned their heads to the speaker. Ahmed smiled and inclined his head once all eyes were on him. "_Mamnuun, shukran, sh'norhekalem, sas efharisto, grazie, gracias, __tesekkür_ _ederim,toda, dua netjer en ek._"

Murmurs went up from the crowd, each culture voicing their impressed approval of Ahmed. The merchant smiled at them.

"My friends, I am very much aware of the tolls our convention places among each of you. We have come a long way, reformed our merchandise, and opened several arms up to foreigners." Ahmed gestured to each of the small clusters in the courtyard. "Alliances have been made here. Cultures have been represented and taught to each of us through our actions. We have embraced each other's differences to prove the near impossible.

"With our meetings and settlings of wares and prices, we have strengthened our countries' economy, trust, and power in security and stability."

Several merchants nodded and clapped their hands. Ahmed handled the praises aimed at him with humility and grace. Altair watched, fascinated.

"Do you know what we are, friends? We are merchants to the eyes of citizens. We control the wealth of the land—we _alone _decide when we fall and rise. We make our mark on history through the items we place in the stalls and through our customers.

"But that is not all that we are, friends. We are servants to the people. We are servants to our kings and queens—to our government. We provide for our families, our friends, my neighbor, your neighbor, his neighbor. We look past our cultural differences and accept the fact that we practice a variety of teachings.

"We hail Allah, we worship God—we may not even believe in a deity. But we are united." Ahmed paused for his words to sink in. He slowly walked around the groups of merchants. "We are united by our desire to prosper. We look at maps and see our bordering countries, and we call our neighbors 'brothers' and 'friends'.

"We secure where we are today with the hope of a better future—of a better tomorrow—for ourselves, our neighbors, brothers, sisters, for the children!"

At this point, the crowd became very vocal and the merchants raised their hands in the air, Ahmed's speech very touching and inspirational for them. They cheered and clapped as he bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"We are merchants," Ahmed whispered, once the praise died down. "We do not need a blade or arrow to fight our way to the promised land. We come from many lands—across the Mediterranean and straight through the Levant—to pursue our mission. I know, friends, I know. We are tired. We have sailed for months to be here, in this courtyard, tonight to hear these words.

"We have traveled on horseback for weeks to make this dream into a reality. We have departed from our homes, saying our goodbyes to our wives and children. I know this. I see the exhaustion in your eyes, I know." He looked over at Bashshar, and the two brothers shared a knowing grin.

"So, please," Ahmed continued while holding out his goblet, "accept these gifts of entertainment my brother and I offer to you, all the while keeping in mind that I serve _you, _my friends. And so I propose a toast! A toast to you, gentlemen, for striving for a perfect world!"

* * *

Tamam stormed over to Damiel just as the boy, balanced on all fours, thrust his hips into the space beneath him. The novices, most of which were doubled over and gasping for air, paid no heed as Tamam grabbed Damiel's neck and hauled him to his feet.

Damiel gagged and coughed. His hands quickly scrabbled at Tamam's hold in front of him, but his grip was as firm as steel as he dragged the boy to the training ring.

"You find the need to amuse yourself? Very well," Tamam seethed. "Now _I _will find reason to amuse _me." _

Damiel grunted just as Tamam flung him toward the fenced ring. He caught himself on the wooden fence and gasped for air. "Oh? Will you perform a duty on me?"

Tamam snarled and smacked the boy across the face. The sound of the slap echoed throughout the courtyard. The novices were quick to sober, and that dreadful silence fell upon them again.

Blood trickled down from the corner of Damiel's mouth, and he flung himself over the fence to escape any more possible blows from the instructor. Tamam glared at him, that sinister smirk once again on his angular face.

"So, we have a jester among us! A jester serving to the court," Tamam waved at the line. "How very fortunate we are to have someone so brave as to challenge Tamam ibn-Safwah. It seems Jenaro's little brat has become the novices' new hero! Well? What are you waiting for? Bow down to him!"

The novices watched in terror as Tamam stooped low to the ground. Damiel took a step back in the ring.

"He's our new Hercules, it seems! Let us see if his blade arm is as quick as his tongue." Tamam whirled around to face the novices. He grinned as he approached one of them. "Nabil will do to put our little fool in his place, won't you?"

Nabil smirked and accepted the two dull blades Tamam held out to him. He jogged toward the ring and swung his legs over the fence.

* * *

Ghalib blinked at what he was witnessing. The crowd, once congratulating and cheering Ahmed's speech, had bitten their tongues and sunk back into their cushions. Filing out from the Palace doors were women clad in expensive silks that clung to their curves and exposed their stomachs, arms, legs, and very much of their bosoms.

_Sharmutas. _Ahmed had provided _sharmutas _to entertain his guests. Altair closed his eyes, his lips pursed in irritation.

But to the other merchants, this was the highlight of their trip.

Musicians soon entered after the women and took their places in the farthest corner, not wishing to interrupt the men and their gazing.

Ghalib leaned back in his cushion, watching the women move their bodies to the rhythm the _darbukas _set for them. The other merchants kept their eyes on the women at all times, fascinated by Arabian culture in an entirely different sense.

The dancers spread themselves amongst the merchants, not caring that by standing too close to a group, the men could see right up the slits in their silk skirts.

Through half-lidded eyes, they stared the merchants down as their waists, arms, and legs moved in the most elegant yet seducing of ways. Once emboldened by their smoldering stares, they dared to move even closer to the men.

One of the _sharmutas _kept her eyes on a certain handsome man with a scar on the right corner of his mouth.

* * *

Saraj secured the cloak around herself and silently crept through the Umayyad Mosque. She quietly padded her way to Ghalib's room and nudged her knuckles against the door.

"Ghalib?" She had no doubt that he could hear her, and found no need to raise her voice above a whisper. When she didn't receive a reply, she turned the handle on the door and slowly opened it.

His room was empty, the cushions neatly stacked as if no one had even been in it. She exhaled and shut the door softly behind her. _'Probably either at the Bureau or another one of Ahmed's conventions,' _she thought.

Maria scurried over to the window and drew back the drapes. She unlatched the window and peered out at the mosque's courtyard. She grinned as she eyed a cart of hay conveniently placed below Altair's window. '_Of course.' _

She carefully pulled herself onto the windowsill and judged the distance between her and the hay. Once the full weight of what she was about to do descended on her shoulders, she felt her body shudder with fear. She never did enjoy these so-called 'leaps of faith', and had only ever performed a small handful of them. She gulped back the lump in her throat and breathed in deeply. Leaving through the mosque's front door was not an option; she'd risk being seen by someone.

Maria summoned up all of her courage, making a mental note to chew Altair's ear off at the next possible moment, knowing that in some way, shape, or form, he was responsible for her fear of heights.

She sucked in a breath, then leapt from the window.

* * *

Nabil wielded one of the blades and tossed the other behind him as he approached Damiel. Damiel gulped, knowing that the blades were dull, but also aware from Rauf's training that any blow from them would be felt for days to come.

Nabil horizontally lunged at Damiel. The boy twisted his body and leapt backward. Nabil's blade barely missed his stomach. Nabil continued to advance on Damiel, using only short swings to stagger him.

Damiel knew that soon his back would be pinned against the fence and that Nabil would have even more of the upper hand against him. Pursing his lips, Damiel sidestepped another one of Nabil's swings. With Nabil's legs spread apart to balance himself, Damiel flung himself forward and under Nabil. Nabil, shocked from the move, froze for a split second before whirling around.

It was just enough time for Damiel to scramble to his feet. With the discarded blade behind him, Damiel continued to narrowly dodge Nabil's attacks. He glanced behind him at the sword. It was a good six feet away.

Damiel's distraction didn't go unnoticed by Nabil. He slammed the flat of his blade against Damiel's calf. He shouted and went down in a heap. Nabil brought down another blow on him. Damiel rolled out of the way, knowing that if he didn't move any sooner that he'd be missing an ear.

He kicked at Nabil's shin and brought him down to his knees. Nabil still held onto his sword, and when Damiel tried to climb back on his feet, he smacked it against his back. Damiel fell forward, another cry escaping his lips.

Tamam laughed and crossed his arms as the tables turned in Nabil's favor.

Rauf held his breath and willed the boy to stand up.

* * *

Ghalib watched as the dancers continued their motions. The dim candlelight in the courtyard silhouetted their figures perfectly, making them out to be seraphs sent down for the merchants' needs alone.

His eyes saw every subtle movement they made. It was erotic, he knew it and admitted it to himself, and certainly pleasing to every man around him. He knew where several of their hands were creeping toward, and he knew how difficult it must have been for them to keep their moans at bay.

Because Altair, too, allowed himself to fantasize as these women, so gifted with their heavenly bodies and luscious curves, continued to tempt them.

His eyes lifted up to meet with one of the dancer's. She wore dark silks with gold trimming that accented her olive skin. Her mouth was veiled with similar silk, leaving only her eyes visible to the merchants. She eyed him, naked desire radiating from those mysterious eyes.

Those not quite blue, yet not quite grey eyes.

It wasn't her, he knew it wasn't. Her hair was not that long, nor was it as curly. But he was captivated, nonetheless, for he saw her. It was _her _slowly slinking toward him, still keeping in time with the musicians. It was _her _whose hips rocked so perfectly and emphasized the feminine beauty of curves.

He swallowed as she stood in front of him and lowered herself upon him.

* * *

Maria lay still as a statue in the cart of hay, her eyes screwed shut as she refused to believe that she had actually made the jump without any broken bones or bruises. It was a success—well, if she didn't count her girly squeal before she leapt into the cart, but that hardly mattered.

No one heard it, so it never happened.

She exhaled and heaved herself out of the hay. She clung to the shadows as she exited the courtyard and made her way to the Palace. She could hear the sounds of drums coming from the Palace's courtyard. _'Good. Ahmed and his guests are probably occupied, leaving me a perfect opening to do a little investigating.' _

While she had full faith that Altair would learn anything possible about Clarence or of his Armenian bodyguard, she had her own pride to tend to. Robert had always valued her as a reliable source of reconnaissance, and she wanted nothing more than to put words into action.

She didn't dare enter through the Palace gates. She could hear whispers coming from the courtyard, and knew that it'd be the most foolish feat she'd ever perform if she barged in on the merchants' meeting. She was a woman, after all, and had no right to interrupt men and their dealings.

She'd have to climb the opposite walls and enter through yet another daring leap. Hopefully Altair had placed a haystack inside the Palace walls.

* * *

Damiel crawled toward his sword. Nabil circled around him and placed his foot on the blade just as Damiel's fingers brushed against the hilt. He smirked down at him, laughing as Damiel glanced up at him. He drew his arm back and slammed his sword into Damiel's back.

He yelped and covered his head with his hands as Nabil continued to beat him. He screamed as his wounds reopened and bled through his tunic.

"_Termina, termina! Por favor, termina!" _He curled up into a ball, his fingers tearing at his hair as Nabil ignored his pleas. The onslaught of beatings stopped when Tamam placed a hand on Nabil's shoulder and took the blade from his grasp.

Damiel exhaled as the abuse stopped. He felt his heart shatter as Tamam kicked Damiel onto his back. The instructor brought the blade onto Damiel's arms as they tried to cover his face and stomach.

"You want to laugh and make a fool of me? Is that what you want? Well who is the fool now, hm? _Who is the fool?" _

"_Por favor, _I don't know! I don't know, I don't know who they are or what they're planning! _Please, _STOP!"

Tamam, enraged by the whimpers coming from the boy, did not stop until Damiel's arms were hidden with blood. Nabil's smirk had long-since disappeared as he stared down at the bloody mess in front of him. He felt bile rise to his throat as he realized what he had just done, what injustice he had committed against a helpless person.

_An innocent. _

He tried to restrain Tamam and beg the man to stop his beatings, but his body wouldn't move. He watched helplessly as Damiel endured his punishment.

Tamam threw his sword aside and knelt down to the boy's level. He tore open his tunic, exposing the circular burn marks and the dotted scars from The Chair on his flesh. The novices gasped and looked at each other in uncertainty.

"Now the crowd has something to laugh about," Tamam hissed.

It was Rauf who saved the boy from Tamam's fury.

* * *

Indulgence. Raw, tarnished indulgence.

She settled herself on top of him. Her legs slid apart as she straddled him, rolling her hips against the bulge in his shalwars.

Altair breathed heavily, still lost in those eyes of hers. Around him, merchants had the dancers in similar positions, some having retreated to the shadows to indulge in their masculine needs. Gasps and moans filled the courtyard.

She leaned over him, her hair falling and creating a curtain around their heads as her lips moved to his.

So complying, so submissive, and yet he hadn't done a thing to her besides running his hands over her back.

The kiss, so innocent and chaste, did not progress further. She waited for his mouth to ravish hers, for his hands to find and free the claps holding her garments together.

Where was the fire, the dominance and control that only _she _possessed?

Altair sighed and opened his eyes to meet the _sharmuta's. _Confusion was written all over her face.

No. Pretending would be futile. This woman, so voluptuous and divine with her painted lips and outlined eyes, could not even begin to compete.

He grabbed her hips and set her next to him, then stood and left the Palace. He was confident that the merchants, Ahmed included, were far too busy gaining entrance to the _sharmutas _to pay him any mind, and Bashshar—

Sweet Allah, he didn't even want to _think _about Bashshar.

* * *

Maria carefully stepped throughout the Palace's interior. After enduring minor casualties from climbing up and over the wall (her cloak was snagged by a ragged piece of architecture, and the fabric suffered a tear as she had no choice but to tug it free), she had finally made it inside the Palace.

She kept her movements catlike and as quiet as possible as she scoured the inside of the Palace. More than once, she had to hide in shadow and become one with the wall as guards patrolled past her.

She came to a fork in the hall and was about to continue straight when voices from the right caught her attention. Her interest raised, she scaled the wall and peeked beyond the corner, making sure she was out of sight and as quiet as a mouse.

"I take it you have no need for Ahmed's provisions tonight?"

A shudder wracked itself up Maria's spine. Oh, she'd know that arrogant, slimy voice just about anywhere.

"_Voch. _Pleasuring men with sinful flesh are for the desperate and lesser in life. Let Ahmed and his playthings enjoy themselves. I hope they become diseased, every one of them."

Maria gawked and balled her hands into fists. That explained the peculiar noises coming from the courtyard, and Altair—

Good God, she'd never felt jealousy rear its hideous head with such power before in her entire life.

"Does it upset you, then?" Clarence asked. "I hope your memories are not a hindrance to your responsibilities, friend. I would certainly detest it if I had to request that my Grandmaster destroy all ties to your country."

"My responsibilities remain as strong and focused as your faith to your cause is."

"I want to hear nothing other than that, Tagvoryan. Should you show signs of failure, I will send you back to your king like a dog to his master. Understand me?"

"There is nothing not to understand."

The sound of footsteps becoming closer reached Maria's ears, and she reluctantly slipped down the hall back the way she had come from.

She had a name now. A title to give to this Armenian bodyguard, this Tagvoryan. All she needed to do was report back to the Umayyad, wait for Altair to lug his rear end back to his quarters, and tell him what she'd learned.

That is, she'd have to wait until he was finished with his whores before she could share the news of her discovery.

* * *

Rauf leapt into the ring and tackled Tamam against the fence. He slammed his back against the fence, the sudden pain shooting through his body keeping him from fighting Rauf's hold.

"I do not recall your job description including beating our pupils to a pulp!" Rauf snarled at him. "Who do you think you are by crashing such judgment upon a boy who hasn't even reached twenty-five summers yet!"

Rauf shoved him back and spat at his feet. Tamam, stunned by the older man's strength, only stared and gasped for air. Rauf moved away from him to face Damiel.

He was curled into himself, crying and blubbering nonsense. Rauf fell to his knees and gently lowered his hand on the boy's neck.

Damiel shrieked and jumped away from Rauf, his eyes crazed as he watched the man.

"Shh, shh," Rauf murmured, slowly crawling closer to him. "Damiel, Damiel, it's alright, my boy. It's me, Rauf. It's me, Damiel."

Damiel shook his head and kicked his legs out, trying to crawl away from Rauf.

"_Estoy aqui, nino," _Rauf whispered. "You needn't fear me, Dammi bear. That's what she called you, isn't it? She called you 'Dammi bear', and 'Dammi sweet'."

"No, no…" Damiel whimpered as Rauf held his shoulders.

"She'd make you _tan _when you asked for it, didn't she? She made you kufta and would sing _Sirunig Avorig _to you, wouldn't she?"

Damiel bit his lip and slowly nodded.

"Do you remember those nights, Damiel? She's hold you close next to the fireplace, your little body held tightly in her arms, and sing to you."

Damiel didn't resist or make a sound as Rauf picked him up and carried him out of the ring. The swarm of Assassins that had gathered around to watch the lesson parted, allowing Rauf back inside the fortress.

"I promised the both of them, Damiel Karkafian," he whispered, "that should you ever be left in my charge, I would raise you as my own and protect you with my life."

Mustafa followed Rauf up to the fortress, Rakin hot on his heels. The shy novice sniffled and rubbed his eyes furiously with his hands. Mustafa wrapped an arm about his shoulders, letting him have someone to cry on.

"I never knew my mother," Rakin confessed as a fresh bout of cries accumulated inside of him.

* * *

Altair paced in his room, frequently glancing at the door.

Where was she? And why wasn't she in her room? Was it Bashshar and Ahmed? Did she sneak off? Was she kidnapped?

He wasn't sure what to do. Should he leave in search of her? What if he was gone when she returned, and she thought the worst?

He groaned and held his head in his hands. Where was the woman?

His eyes shot up just as the handle on his door turned.

Maria, with her back to him, moved inside the room. She slowly closed the door, being sure that none of the hinges would creak. Once it was closed, she exhaled a breath she'd been holding for God knew how long.

"Where were you?"

She gasped and whirled around, her body ready for combat if need be. When she saw Altair, though, her shoulders slumped and she waved a hand at him.

"Oh, it's only you. I was afraid Ahmed would be here—"

"Ahmed? Why would Ahmed be here? And where were you, Maria?"

She frowned and crossed her arms. "You're the one who's been suspicious of his supposed advances on me, Altair, don't forget that."

He walked over to her, his face still etched with concern. "Where _were _you, Maria?"

She didn't falter for a moment beneath his gaze. She tilted her head to the side. "Where were _you?" _

He pressed his lips together, not sure how to respond to her. Should he say that he partook in a meeting that involved Ahmed throwing prostitutes at the merchants? No, then she'd think that he _partook _instead of only partaking.

He rubbed his forehead. Why did he have to fall for a woman so stubborn and complicated?

"I thought so," she bluntly replied. "Well, while you were out whoring away with your merchant friends, I actually took it upon myself to finally give our mission a lick of maturity that it deserves."

"I was _not _relishing in—"

"_Oh ho ho, _relishing? An interesting choice on how to phrase it. I don't care what you were doing, Altair, all I care is that you hear me out."

"Why should I bestow my attention upon you when you will not do the same for me?"

"Because, darling," she purred, placing a hand on his cheek, "I know you too well to find comforts in a mere courtesan." She smiled and watched how his face changed from frustration to confusion, and then finally to sated contentedness.

"But you, my little eaglet, have yet to know what _I _was doing."

He pulled her by the waist so that their hips touched. "Nothing legal, I assume."

"It's purely justifiable if it helps the right cause," she countered.

"Not entirely true, Maria. For example, if—"

"We can continue this debate, Altair, or I can tell you that I know who Clarence's bodyguard is."

* * *

"No. Absolutely not," Rauf deadpanned.

"But, Rauf, you said—"

"I know what I said, and my answer is still no, Damiel. You are _not _to return to that ring under Tamam's orders. Do you understand me?"

"But—"

"Look at yourself, boy! Do you not see the bandages on your arms and back? You are to stay put in this infirmary until I say so."

Damiel huffed and fell backward on his bed. "But Rauf, you said yourself that Tamam has never reacted so violently toward his students before."

"Yes," Rauf agreed, "and now we know what the man is truly capable of."

"Didn't you see it, Rauf? _I _even saw it, and according to Hildegard, my eyes cannot see farther than three inches in front of me!"

"See what? The desire to beat you to death in his eyes? Yes, I saw that, boy. Every person in that courtyard saw it."

"No, Rauf," Damiel groaned. "The _power _I had over Tamam—the control my little antics granted me! Tell me something. Would Malik be forced to remove Tamam from his position as combat instructor if he continued to have violent episodes?"

Rauf sighed and closed his eyes. "I know where this is leading to, boy—"

"Answer me, Rauf. Would Tamam lose his position?"

Rauf nodded. "Yes, he would."

Damiel smiled. "And who would take his place?"

"No," Rauf barked. "I am a blacksmith now, Damiel. Malik does not have the authority to place me back as the instructor. Only Altair has that power, and I've argued for hours with that man about my duty—I see you smiling—to Masyaf. And every time, I've emerged the loser."

Damiel gestured to Hildegard. "What say you, Hilde? Do you think there might be a chance for him?"

Hildegard looked up from her book and raised a brow. "Dear boy, you should know better than to interrupt me while reading a love letter. But, if you value my opinion so much and if you absolutely _must _know, then yes, I agree with you."

"See, Rauf? Even Hildegard—love letter? From who?"

Hildegard laughed. "Oh, well it isn't to me, actually. I think one of the novices wrote it and signed it 'Anonymous'. This will be circling around dinner, I assure you."

Damiel clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "You said you'd help me rebuild myself, Rauf. Now, I want to help you in return. Don't you miss being the teacher?"

"Of course I do," he sighed. "I've raised my Brothers from pups to men. Those were such fine days for me, but days that are best left behind."

"If you were requested to take Tamam's place, though, would you accept it?" Damiel pushed on.

Rauf glanced at Hildegard, hoping she'd be of use. She, however, refused to look at either of them. He sighed and threw his hand into the air. "As persistent as the father! _Oomma! _Yes, yes I would accept my former position without the slightest bit of hesitation!"

"Then I'll do it," Damiel said confidently.

Rauf shook his head. "To think that I'm relying on The Karkafian's boy to help me live my dream. What would Jenaro say if he saw me now?"

"That you're a good man," Damiel said evenly. "Far more than Tamam could ever be."

Hildegard folded her precious little letter and huffed at the two goons in front of her. "Well, I'll be damned," she grunted. She stood from her chair and smoothed her skirt out. Damiel and Rauf stared in utter perplexity at her. "It's about time you said it, you little idiot," she grumbled as she cuffed his ears. "I could feel myself wrinkling waiting for you to grow a brain in that hollow shell you call a skull."

* * *

**Translations**:

**Spanish**:

_Gracias a Dios: _Thank God

_Estoy aqui, nino: _I'm here, boy.

_Oyé: _Hey

_Mierda: _shit

_Termina: _stop

_Por favor: _please

**Arabic**:

_Na'am: _yes

_Sharmuta: _whore

**Armenian:**

_Voch: _No

_tan:_ The Armenian equivalent of ayran (yogurt shake)

_Sirunig Avorig: _An Armenian song about pretty birds (at least, that's what I THINK they're singing about)

_Mamnuun_,_ shukran, sh'norhekalem, sas efharisto, grazie, gracias, __tesekkür_ _ederim,toda, dua netjer en ek_ = 'thank you' in Arabic (Syrian), Arabic (Middle Eastern/in general), Armenian, Greek, Italian, Spanish, Turkish, Hebrew, Egypt –all respectively

**A/N: So, I postponed this chapter because I incorporate events that happen to me into my chapters. Yeah, you guessed it. Nothing happened to me for a long while. Until I slipped and fell in my bathroom at my parents' house. Silly, I know, but I realized that no matter how much of an idiot you are for not seeing the giant puddle of slippery goodness on the floor, parents still love you and will always be there. I hope you can see how I'm inspired to write Damiel's pain whenever he thinks of his family, and I hope you can relate to him in some way. He's really a troubled character, in my opinion.**

**Anyways. Yes, I know this chapter does not quite best the previous one. That's because since I took such a long break from writing, I'm a bit rusty. So, think of this as a preliminary chapter of sorts. The next one, well… that's where everything spicy happens. I'm sorry if this chapter is disappointing, believe me, I tried. I just have to bounce back to writing mode.**


	33. Chapter 27, Part 1

Malik's eyes roved over the letter in his hand. Hildegard watched his facial expression change upon what he read; sometimes he'd quirk a brow, frown, smirk, or roll his eyes. She clicked her tongue in impatience and reclined in her chair next to the desk. There was an irritating little twitch in her foot as she tapped her boot against the floor of the study, waiting for him to finish.

Malik seemed indifferent to her struggle to grasp the concept of patience. Or, that was how it seemed to her. From above the letter, he could see her brown eyes glaring at him, her lip curled up as she scrunched her face in a frown. He had to turn around just to hide his amused expression from her. To add to her torment, he added some murmurs of, "Oh, really? That's interesting. Hmm, intriguing," and tiny gasps of surprise.

He shifted on his feet when he felt her glare sizzling his back into a little crisp.

After what seemed an eternity, he finally sighed and folded the letter back up. Hildegard leaned forward in her chair like a tiger ready to pounce. He glanced at her, then back at the letter in his hand, and shrugged. When the silence between them stretched too long for Hildegard's reputable forbearance, she growled out, "Well?"

When she received silence, she groaned and threw her hands into the air. "It's been over a month—almost _two _months—since those two were dispatched, and you want to keep your mouth closed tighter than a nun's legs? Here's little old me, occupying myself with the pathetic gossip around this place and watching Damiel train time to time. Not to mention helping here and there in his scheme to remove Tamam from sparring trainer—"

Malik raised an eyebrow at this and tilted his head to the side, sending her a challenging look. She crossed her arms and returned the expression, following his lead in choosing silence over words. She saw the faintest of twitches in his face and knew she'd won this little duel.

"And so I ask again, dear Malik. _Well?" _

"Well," he drawled out, as if he was being taxed by answering her, "it seems that all is going well, if not a little slow in Damascus. I suppose all I can do is follow the letter's instructions." He sat down in a chair and stared long and hard at the letter now secured beneath his fingers on the table.

Hildegard's eyes danced across his form, watching how his posture, once so calm and collective, morphed into one of deep concern and thought. She watched how his brow slowly creased into a frown.

He looked over at Hildegard and sighed before drumming his fingers against the letter. "But these instructions trouble me. Greatly so," he added in. He took in a deep breath before gazing into her eyes. "What I am about to entrust you with is of the utmost importance to Masyaf's well-being. Do you understand this, Hildegard?"

Dumbly, she nodded, entranced by the emotions of fear and trust playing through his face. She scooted her chair closer to him as he beckoned her closer. Not even the annoying grating sound of the chair's legs scraping against the floor drew her out of her trance.

He nodded once her chair was directly in front of his, their knees touching they were so close. He rested his elbow on his knee. "The Master seems to be enduring some difficult times in Damascus. He has encountered many hindrances, and so therefor, he must look to his adviser for assistance."

Hildegard nodded in encouragement for him to continue.

"Because he is burdened by other issues in Damascus, it is up to me to complete his greatest task, Hildegard. Do you understand this?"

"And what is this greatest task? Is he sending you out to eliminate Templars? Have they an Assassin in their midst as leverage over us? Are they planning—"

He pressed his fore- and middle finger against her mouth to politely quiet her. His face still lined with worry, he stared into her eyes. She found that she could not look away and that everything in the room other than him began to blur away into a grey smudge.

She'd always known that there were many different values to the color brown. For instance, Damiel's eyes had a shine of dark chocolate and caramel mixed together. Hers were burnt amber. But Malik's were almost as dark as his pupils. From a distance, she'd never noticed that they were so dark and so—dare she admit it—alluring.

Not in the way a woman would desire a man, no. But in the way that one is captivated by knowledge. Malik was an intelligent man—he frequented the libraries enough for her to notice him sitting at the table across from her—but she had never seen that twinkle of intelligence so personally. As if his eyes themselves held the world's greatest secret.

Maybe they did.

Her mouth involuntarily parted as his fingers brushed against her lower lip, tracing the shape and memorizing the feel of it. From somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how a hand, with knuckles red from chafing leather and palms so calloused from years of training, could display such tender actions against the fairer sex.

His stern expression cracked the slightest degree before he whispered, "My instructions are to carry on with watching over Masyaf and her activities."

If she wasn't ensnared by him, she would have seen the boyish spark in his eyes, the slightest movement at the corner of his mouth, the now-evident sarcasm in his voice.

Hildegard blinked, her mouth gaping open as she finally registered the feather-light touch of his fingers on her lips. She gawked and snarled in irritation as she swatted his hand away. Her eyes blazed with fury as he leaned back in his seat, looking as smug as the cat that ate the cream.

The fiery tango in her eyes seethed on as he couldn't help but elicit an entertained grunt from hoodwinking her.

She huffed and crossed her arms. She pointed her chin in the air. "You are unbelievable, impossible, and a little faking _liar, _Malik."

He smirked. "Quite."

"Yes, _quite _incorrigible," she pouted. "Riling me up, thinking that Masyaf was at risk, and then—"

"And then giving you a letter addressed to you from Maria?" he asked as he handed her another piece of paper. Her eyes glittered with happiness, and before he could even open his mouth to further stoke his victory, she snatched the letter from him and scurried away from the fortress. All seemed to be forgiven for now, but he if he knew Hildegard, he'd be correct to assume that she would find a way to score against him later.

And he knew her quite well.

He closed his eyes and chuckled, then tilted his head back. "Incorrigible, am I? Agreeable. But you? You are very _corrigible. _More so than you believe."

* * *

Damiel grunted and struggled to recover his footing as he brought his sword up to block Rauf's incoming attack. The older man smiled from the boy's fast reflexes and quickly shifted his weight to bring Damiel's guard down and stagger him.

Knowing that Rauf's strength outmatched his own, he pushed off with his sword and sidestepped away from the man, putting some distance between their blades. When Rauf made to attack him again, he twisted his body out of the way and tried to take a swipe at his right calf. But Damiel, still so accustomed to the length of Riva, misjudged his swing and ended up clipping the ground by Rauf's heels.

The boy gritted his teeth and cursed himself. He missed his spear dearly.

Rauf had the advantage as Damiel tried to find his balance again. He parried the boy's next desperate swing, sending the sword flying out of his grasp. With that threat destroyed, Rauf took a step closer to him and used the pommel of his sword to punch him in the gut. Damiel doubled over and fell to his knees when Rauf finished the duel by kicking him in the behind.

Rauf smiled and stuck his sword into the ground. "Your evasion has improved, but you still need work on blocking attacks. And actually landing them, Karkafian."

Damiel groaned and rolled onto his back. He rubbed his gut and licked his chapped lips. "It's always something, eh, Rauf?"

"But of course," Rauf shrugged. "No one is perfect with the sword, not even the Master. But our duels are lasting longer and progress is being made." He motioned to the fortress with a wave of his hand. "_Yalla, _pick yourself up and clean for supper." With that, Rauf left the Garden.

Damiel sat up and tore out clumps of grass. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, completely drained of energy. It had been a long day and long weeks of training. While he still received instruction from Tamam, once a week he'd seek out Rauf after training and tell him everything he'd learned that day. Sometimes Rauf would ask him to demonstrate what he learned, other times he'd request a duel with him to learn firsthand his progress.

But when practice came to a close an hour before the dinner bell and Rauf was nowhere to be found in the fortress, Damiel would have to satisfy himself with accompanying him at dinner. He'd heard from Mustafa that Rauf worked in the armory as Masyaf's blacksmith. The thought of another smithy sent terror through Damiel's body. It was as if he could feel those coals burning through his flesh again.

He wiped his face and pulled himself up from the ground. It was strange how he came to rely on Rauf's presence after a difficult practice. Tamam still found a victim in Damiel after his first incident in the courtyard. While Tamam did not physically punish Damiel anymore, there were still acts of humiliation brought upon the boy. He'd berate him with words or forbid him from the supper hall.

While this seemed cruel of Tamam, Damiel was always a step ahead of him. Tamam had the power and authority of trainer, but Damiel had the power of connections. Thanks to Asiya, Damiel never went to bed hungry after receiving discipline from Tamam. The healer would leave a plate of whatever was for dinner that night in the infirmary for him. In return, he would help her crush herbs into pastes and salves for Masyaf's sick and wounded.

It was interesting seeing Asiya work. It was clear she was passionate about her role as healer, and he'd learned much about what plants would heal or hinder.

Jogging back to the infirmary, he was delighted to find a basin of water and rag already prepared for him on a table by his bed. He knew this not to be of Asiya's doing—though she liked him, she'd in no way pamper him like this. Again, he was grateful that Rauf was always watching and lending a hand whenever he needed it. Damiel had nothing against bathing publicly with other men, but after the first time he decided to join the other novices at the bathhouse, he immediately regretted it. They had stared at the scars of torture decorating his body.

He _hated _the looks of sympathy they'd given him.

Not even Mustafa, who he'd come to consider a close friend, knew of his fear of the bathhouse or how he'd use the infirmary to clean himself. The infirmary wasn't equipped with in-ground tubs like the bathhouse, so he needed to plan carefully. He'd wash his face, hands, and any part of him visible while wearing comfortable sirwals and tunic. Then, when night would fall and the novices would be fast asleep, he'd sneak on out either to the bathhouse or waters surrounding Masyaf and scrub the grime off of him like his life depended on it. A few times he foolishly thought that if he scrubbed hard enough, the scars would come off, too.

Tonight was no different. He would wash his face, hands, arms, neck, and hair, then head on out to the dining hall.

Well, the only difference about that night was the scream that tore through the fortress.

Damiel jumped from the sound, almost upsetting the bowl of water, and bolted into immediate action. He forgot his exhaustion as he sprinted through the halls, trying to distinguish where the scream came from.

It wasn't until he heard the scream again and recognized the voice that he stopped in his tracks. He shook his head, certain he must have heard wrong, but blushed when that shrill squeal sounded once more.

Hildegard, more than a little breathless, pranced through the fortress, a letter clutched tightly in her hands. Her face was flushed and hair windblown, and maybe her dress was wrinkled. The crowd of novices making their way to supper parted as she skipped through the mob.

Their faces turned beet red when she cried out again.

"_Orgasm, orgasm!" _

The boys who had enough shame blushed and looked away from her, while others tried to keep a straight face on and pretend they didn't even hear her. But with her shouting at the top of her lungs, it was impossible _not _to hear her.

_"Oh, rompy goodness of Heaven above! Orgasm!" _She stopped suddenly in her tracks and held her stomach as she laughed in triumph. She righted her posture as if she'd just notice she had an audience. She scurried over to the boys, smiling as how some cowered behind others in fear of the bubbly, bursting-at-the-seams orgasm woman.

She turned an eyebrow up and addressed the group, "Is there something amusing, gentlemen?" In answer of her own question, she tutted, "Oh, _pish posh! _Of _course_ there's something amusing!" Her eyes darted through the crowd, and when they settled on Damiel, her face lit up and she flung herself at him.

He caught her around the waist to keep her from slamming him into the wall. She clung to him as she cackled hysterically into his shoulder. "Oh, _Damiel, _dearie. Dearest, dearest, sweet little dearest Damiel dearie of mine," she managed to choke out between bouts of laughter.

"You're making a scene, Hildegard. Everyone's looking at you like you've two heads," he whispered into her ear.

She smirked from his words and used him to balance herself. "You silly little boy, only males have two heads!"

He willed himself not to smirk or blush from her words, but utterly failed.

"Oh, but you should have seen it.' She put emphasis in her words by grabbing onto his shoulders. "It _was _a _scene_, Damiel, and _everyone _saw. And if I'm not mistaken, there were _far _more than just two heads, given how many men there were!" She wobbled before wandering away from Damiel, swaying side to side as she still murmured "orgasm, orgasm," to herself throughout the entirety of the fortress.

Before long, the scholars in the library were wondering if a certain blonde woman who was known for her gossip was touched in the mind.

During supper, whispers of "orgasm, orgasm," floated through the dining hall, baffling the trainers and higher-ranked Assassins. When Malik heard "What's an orgasm?" echo back and forth between a few novices, he buried his face in his hand, trying to drown out his groans of distaste.

* * *

Maria sat back in her lounge at the Umayyad, wriggling into the cushions for the most comfortable position. She sighed and helped herself to the bowl of vegetables that Ahmed gave to her. Normally, she wouldn't eat vegetables without the accompaniment of a main dish, but this was a rare exception. Ahmed had called the long green food _mikti, _also known as the Armenian pickled wild cucumber. At the first bite, it seemed to be a sweet pickle, but it sent a sour tingle up one side of her jaw.

She was immediately drawn to the sensation of clashing flavors and had eagerly accepted more from Ahmed.

But that was an hour ago when she was still in his company. Ghalib was with Bashshar and the other merchants on a little field day through Souk Saruja. Ahmed had insisted that the other merchants go on without him so that Saraj wouldn't be left all by herself at the Umayyad, and Ghalib had allowed him to stay with his wife, even if his eyes had narrowed into a glare upon the request.

She sighed and ruffled her hair and helped herself to another pickle. It was still early in the afternoon, but Maria felt no need to rise from her spot and make the most out of the day. Maybe she'd consider it when Ghalib returned; maybe they'd stroll Damascus' streets again.

She'd taken to spending much more time with him. Under Ahmed's persistence and insistence, Ghalib treated Saraj as a level higher than property. Once, when she was invited to attend a walk with several merchants, Ahmed had insisted that Ghalib dance with his wife when he saw her looking forlornly at a group of merchants playing for children.

Ghalib, feeling all the expectant looks from the other merchants, begrudgingly complied and half-dragged half-escorted his wife to dance.

While Maria enjoyed it and Saraj felt compelled to obey her husband's every command, she didn't know for certain how Altair or Ghalib felt about it. He'd shown no happiness while they danced around that fountain, nor had he been disgusted with the act. He'd been impossible to read, like a book written in a foreign language.

She twirled a pickle in her fingers and was just about to leave her room and pay Shihad a visit at the stables—maybe he liked pickles, too?—when her bedroom door opened and in came Altair.

She sneered at her pickle. No, Shihad didn't deserve it. More for her.

"I believe the more time I spend with those buffoons, the more I want to dive into concrete instead of hay," he muttered as he sat down beside her. He seemed too absorbed in his own musings to pay her any heed. Not that she minded, considering he'd ask about her pickles and possibly confiscate them if she told him Ahmed gave them to her.

"Every day, they haul their weight around Damascus—Bashshar especially, though he has the most trouble with this, considering he is the definition of obesity—quietly sneering at the people and turning a blind eye toward their struggles. How sickening it is to see such disregard for commonfolk."

Maria watched him as he continued his rant. These complaints of his were becoming more and more common, and she was becoming more and more disturbed by this new uncharacteristic trait of his. She interrupted his fuming by turning his head toward hers.

His nostrils flared as his body still shivered with rage, but his shoulders eventually relaxed as she rubbed her fingers along his jaw and cheek. He waited for her to speak—to say _anything, anything _to banish whatever anxiety that still lingered in him and distract him from his thoughts.

How strange it was for a Hashshashin to _want _distractions!

"You haven't shaved," she offered casually. "It's picky."

He let out a breath and nodded. "I've been preoccupied, Maria."

"How long has it been? A week, week and a half?"

"Three days." He found himself smiling with her when she chuckled. His face soured as he reflected on his past three days. "Three days of _Shêtân_'s Hell, filled with the merchants and their useless meetings. I wonder if they even genuinely enjoy this convention, or if they find it an opportunity to gain more power."

She pulled his turban off and toyed with the unruly brown locks of hair. "This grew back, too, I see."

"And when Ahmed decides to neglect a meeting, it is always Bashshar who takes the lead. Instead of accomplishing anything, that putrid swine offers us women and wine. What of the men who do not wish to be stuffed like game hanging on a wall, or to fill their needs with those _sharmutas?" _

She ran her fingers through his hair. "Be careful, Altair," she mused. "Some of those merchants might grow jealous of your appearance."

"It's maddening hearing their petty little squabbles, Maria, and ingrains headaches upon headaches into my skull—_Maria," _he growled. She wasn't even paying attention to him! She was too busy tugging and playing with that annoying lock of hair that rested on his forehead. He found his temper flaring again, and he had the sudden urge just to cut the piece of hair off to spite her.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Altair," she huffed. Ignoring his indignant expression, she cupped his face in her hands and started kneading her fingers against his temples and behind his neck, just as he'd demonstrated on her before. His body tensed momentarily before recognizing her actions, and he had no power over himself as the creases in his forehead smoothed over and the taut muscles in his jaw relaxed.

Her ministrations earned a small relieved sound from the back of his throat, and he closed his eyes. When she finished soothing his headache away, he was barely aware that she was leaning her head on his shoulder, her pickles long forgotten.

"I visited the Bureau today," he murmured into her hair. His arm wrapped around her and pulled her closer.

"Oh?"

"Butrus sends his regards. He says that any time you want, you're free to visit him as well. He's taken a liking to you."

She smiled. "He seems to like you as well, Altair."

"He's an understanding person, Maria. But I received… interesting news from him. Malik sent me a letter."

"About Masyaf's welfare?"

"That, and how only a few nights ago, Hildegard was seen and heard traipsing through the fortress, shouting rather implying and inappropriate words. Any idea why she would be doing this, Maria?"

Maria's breath caught in her throat. She knew she never should have sent Hildegard that letter detailing about her time in Damascus as Saraj. It was an innocent enough letter, until she mentioned overhearing the Merchant Committee Orgy in the palace courtyard. Apparently that's how Hildegard handled the delicious news.

"That sounds like something she'd do," Maria answered in hopes of dropping the conversation.

"Indeed," he chuckled. She wasn't fooling anyone. A comfortable silence hung between them as Maria snuggled further into his shoulder, satisfied only when her nose brushed against his neck.

"Butrus and I also discussed Clarence and his Armenian bodyguard, this 'Tagvoryan' man," he started. "If I continue to yield no results from my investigations, I'm considering asking Malik to send in reinforcements."

She glanced up at him. "Reinforcements? Are you planning an invasion?"

"No," he shook his head. "Assassins will only resort to invading a city only if there are no other options available, Maria. I will ask Malik to send in a few men to help gather information and perhaps conduct an assassination on either Clarence or his protector."

"That sounds logical, but be careful with how many men you require, Altair. You may have the merchants' trust, but Clarence is no fool; he does not trust anyone. He is suspicious of every one of those men, yourself included, Altair."

"I'm aware of this. This mission has proven to be the most time-consuming one I've ever embarked upon, Maria. I believe that because of the merchants and their ridiculous mannerisms, it's been more unpleasant—" He swallowed his words when he felt her shifting against him. She cupped his cheek as she nipped his neck and planted soft kisses against the flesh, not minding his picky stubble in the least.

"Enough of these merchants," she breathed into his ear. "Hush now, my little eaglet." She continued her kisses, trailing them up his neck and to his jaw. Her lips closed around the tender flesh, and she gently began to pull and suck on the curve of his neck. Heat pooled between her legs when he gave the softest of moans and fisted his hands into the fabric of her jalabiya_. _She would have left a mark, but he pulled her to him so that she straddled his waist.

Her body immediately reacted to their proximity, not wanting to waste a moment of having his solid warmth so near her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her elbows resting on his shoulders. Her fingers traveled up the back of his head, sliding through his hair and teasing the short locks of hair. She kissed his brow before her lips ghosted along his temple.

His hands slowly ran up her thighs, unsure if his motions would be welcomed or not. When she sighed and lightly tugged on his hair, he lost himself to the desire of feeling and kneading her strong legs. He gasped when her tongue traced the shell of his ear. When it reached the lobe, she nipped and nibbled on it, eliciting another moan from him.

Even without his sounds of approval and arousal, she knew the effects that her affections had over him; the evidence of his desire was quite noticeable from underneath her.

She pulled away from him to stare into his eyes, humbled beyond words from the naked adoration evident in his hazel eyes. It should have frightened her, knowing that he always kept his thoughts and feelings guarded behind a steel gaze, but she knew without a doubt that such looks of unguarded lust were only reserved for one person.

A person who found no reason to continue blocking his advances.

He brushed her hair behind her ears as she toyed with that stubborn curl on his forehead. Her eyes flickered between his and his mouth. He saw a look of uncertainty pass over her face—whether it was from her own indecisiveness or his, he was not certain—and he was adamant to banish whatever doubts occupying her mind.

He cupped her head and closed the distance between them. Their mouths met hesitantly and with the faintest contact. He wasn't even sure if they were kissing, but the way their lips tenderly brushed against each other was enough to make every nerve ending in his body alight with fire.

Her lips traced his scar. With her eyes closed, she couldn't see him watching every subtle change in her expression. She puckered her brow as she reminded herself of how that scar felt under her mouth, and she pulled back just an inch to give a smile that said, "Ah, yes, I remember now."

They met again, the kiss chaste and simple. The stubble along his lips and jaw tickled her, and her fingers moved over his jaw, enjoying the feel of the prickly hair.

He was not sure how long they exchanged these small kisses, as they were both content to block out the rest of the world for now and focus solely on the other. He found it a fitting reward for having to endure the stupidity from the merchants for so long.

Perhaps he should complain about them more often if it meant Maria would lavish such attention upon him.

Their small blissful moment almost resulted in a compromising position, though, and their eyes shot open at the same time. They hardly had enough time to register the sound of footsteps just beyond the door before she scrambled away from him and made herself presentable in just the space of a few seconds.

Maria, knowing that her hair was probably in tangles because that buffoon of a man just _loved _to knot his fingers in it, quickly tried to brush out the knots with her fingers. She paused to glance over at him to make sure he was trying to conceal the proof of their actions as much as she was. Her mouth went dry as he still laid in the cushions, breathing heavily—almost panting—and staring at her with a smolder that would put hot coals to shame.

Obviously, he wasn't worried about anyone walking in on them in such a thought-arousing situation. After all, was Ghalib not permitted to kiss and fondle his own wife, even in a mosque?

Her eyes darted to his sirwals. '_And not only thought-arousing,' _she thought.

His lips parted and his voice dropped an octave as he whispered, "_Maria." _

She frowned in frustration, half of her wanting to coax more moans out of him. Allah knew she was quite talented at that, but there was a more pressing matter than that of his need for her.

And his erection's need.

The footsteps stopped right behind their door, and Maria, knowing that she'd be utterly damned if anyone saw the lustful look on Altair's face, found no other option than to grab a pickle from her discarded bowl and shove it into his opened mouth. Stunned, he accidentally bit down on it, cringing from the sudden sour tingle that shot up his jaw.

She settled beside him, holding the bowl in her lap to pretend she was feeding him, just as the door opened and in came Ahmed without a single knock.

"Ahmed," Saraj said in a surprised voice, obviously delighted to have him in her company, "what brings you here, friend?"

He inclined his head to her. "A pleasure to see you again so soon, Saraj." He turned his attention toward Ghalib. Ahmed smiled when he saw the pickle dangling out of his mouth. "Ah, Ghalib! I see Saraj found it in her heart to share. I trust that you are enjoying them?"

Maria smiled and patted Ghalib's arm before replying, "He's absolutely taken with them, Ahmed. Isn't that right, Ghalib?"

Ghalib grunted.

Ahmed, ignoring Ghalib's bulging eyes and cross-eyed glare directed at the pickle, beamed and clapped his hands together. "Excellent! I will have some of my servants send more over later, if you'd wish."

"That would be most splendid, Ahmed," Maria purred, pointedly ignoring the glower Altair gave her.

Ghalib, finally recovering from the initial shock of that ridiculous pickle, pulled the blasted thing out of his mouth, contemplating whether or not to throw it at Ahmed. He settled with snapping it in half, only a little bit satisfied of teaching the pickle a lesson—oh, _Allah, _now there were _two _pickles. He cleared his throat. "I trust there is a reason for this visit, Ahmed?"

"Yes, yes, pardon my forgetfulness," Ahmed chuckled. "I came to tell you, Ghalib, that Bashshar is holding a meeting in an hour specifically reserved for those merchants who are serious about our cause. It is mandatory that you attend, Ghalib."

Altair's heart plummeted from the news. How lovely: _more _time with that over-stuffed hog. He tried to lift his spirits by thinking of the possibility of learning more about Clarence and Tagvoryan.

"Ghalib will be there promptly, Ahmed," Saraj said when her husband made no move to reply.

"Excellent! And as for you, Saraj, there is someone whom I'd like you to meet tonight. He's an Armenian musician, and I know of your appreciation for music, so I made arrangements to introduce you to him."

Saraj lifted her eyebrows at this and smiled. "That is very thoughtful of you, Ahmed. I'd be honored to meet him—who did you say he was, again?"

Ahmed nodded, pleased with her response. "He's been in Damascus for a couple months now. Armenia's King Levon is well aware of his musical talents and sent him here to share the gift of rhythm with the world. I believe his next destination is Libya."

Failure to mention the man's name did not go unnoticed by Altair.

"Then it would be very rude of me to decline this invitation, Ahmed. A man who's traveled so far and has spent much time away from home deserves recognition, no?" Saraj smiled again.

"Very good, I will tell him immediately. Please be ready to leave just before sunset; I will escort you to the Palace and properly introduce you two. And Ghalib, it would be wise to leave now, if you are ready."

* * *

Saraj followed Ahmed as he led the way through the Palace. Ghalib had already returned to the Umayyad, and she bade him goodnight after he'd lamented what a waste of time the meeting was.

She knew he wanted to come with her, and knew that he was just itching to follow her. But what would he say if he was caught? That he was just casually roaming the Palace?

Altair's worried look still flashed through her mind, and Maria was adamant to keep those hazel pools from distracting her. Already, she'd almost crashed into Ahmed's back. He'd have probably started clucking and coddling her, thinking she was ill, if she hadn't caught herself at the last possible moment.

Ahmed smiled and inclined his head to the other merchants and servants they passed, most of them returning the gesture and sending Saraj approving glances. She despised how she'd become Ghalib's little decorative ornament, as if she was there solely for the purpose to look pretty and accept praise on her beauty. It sickened her, almost as much as the sounds she currently heard.

Maria's eyes narrowed and her muscles bunched together as Ahmed walked down a corridor with closed doors lining both sides of the hall. She wasn't too fond of the narrow space, but was even more upset by the sounds coming from behind the doors.

Oh, Hildegard would _love _to know that she'd discovered the whore pens of the Palace. At least she knew one of the musician's hobbies.

She steeled herself in case Ahmed's sincerity was all but a ruse to have her beneath him. Oh ho ho, if _that _was what the man was planning, he'd be sorely disappointed to find that he'd have more than just a pickle shoved into his mouth.

"Here we are," he said at last once they were at the last door in the hall. Maria could hear the telltale sound of a duduk behind the door, and some of her tension dissipated. He held the door open for her and motioned her inside.

Maria had always known that instruments reflected their players; emotions from the musician would be brought out for the world to hear through their talents. And at that moment, when she heard the nostalgic tune, she knew more about this man than words could ever describe.

It was the sound of a man who had lost everything—no, every_one—_in his life and was reminiscing in his life before the world turned on end. She knew that feeling all too well, as she spent her last year in that misery.

Ahmed moved past Maria and smiled at the man whose back was to them. He didn't look up from the sheets of music in front of him or turn around. "Ah," Ahmed said, "Sarkis Tagvoryan, always a pleasure to hear your playing!"

Maria's heart froze. She was a sheep led to slaughter! She had no doubt that she'd be able to keep Ahmed from harming her—the man was as skinny as a twig—but... but!

But _Tagvoryan—Clarence's _bodyguard, Tagvoryan—would be a different scenario completely. Her fingers twitched as she contemplated whether or not to take out her hidden knives and gain the upper hand on them right there and then.

But Tagvoryan did not seem alarmed in the slightest. He placed his reed in a case and wiped his duduk with a cloth. Once he was done making sure his duduk was secured in its case, he stood and turned toward Ahmed. He blinked, as if he'd just noticed them there.

"_Voghdzuyin, _Master Ahmed," he said with a polite bow. "Forgive me, I was not expecting you tonight."

Maria raised an eyebrow at Ahmed.

"Ah, well," Ahmed chuckled, "I promised Saraj that I would introduce her to you, and she had no plans this night." He stepped to the side and motioned between Saraj and Tagvoryan. "Sarkis, this is Saraj bint-Mikhail, wife of Ghalib ibn-Jibril. Saraj, this is Sarkis Tagvoryan, King Levon of Armenia's chief adviser."

Saraj inclined her head and took a step back when Sarkis held his hand out to her. She looked at him in bewilderment.

"It is only proper that women be treated the same as men," he murmured. When she still stared at him in shock, he cleared his throat and let his hand fall back to his side. Maria quickly stole the last opportunity to shake the man's hand.

"It is a pleasure, Sarkis Tagvoryan—"

"Please, just 'Tagvoryan', if you will," he whispered. Maria glanced up at him, curious as to why a man would feel so inferior with a woman that he'd keep his voice so quiet and submissive. She was even more curious about this man when she sized him up. She'd expected Clarence's bodyguard to be a gruff and impeding man with a hole in his chest where a heart should have been. She even expected him to be covered in filth from battle.

Tagvoryan, however, was none of these things. He was a handsome man, at most having thirty-some years on his shoulders. His shoulder-length curly hair was just a shade from being black, and he kept it tied at the back, but that didn't stop a few curly locks from hanging at his forehead. No matter how handsome he was, his entire frame looked tired and weighed down by something, as if he was a man haunted by nightmares.

It would explain his duduk's voice.

She wondered how a man so skilled with music found himself as a bodyguard to someone as vile as Clarence. She looked into his eyes and swore that gold began to leak into his irises, but when she blinked, she was staring into the same hazel that she lost herself in earlier that evening. Her hand fell out of his and she knew she was looking at him with the dumbest expression. If he noticed, those sad eyes betrayed nothing.

"I've heard much about you, Saraj bint-Mikhail. Ahmed speaks highly of you. And Ahmed, before my mind forgets, Bashshar was looking for you earlier. He came to me once he was finished with... searching the hallway."

"Oh!" Ahmed seemed conflicted—be rude and leave Saraj with Tagvoryan, or keep his brother waiting?

"He said it was of the utmost importance," Tagvoryan added, seeming to know what the other man was thinking. Saraj gave Ahmed a reassuring smile, and the man, having his mind made up, excused himself from the room.

Silence hung between Tagvoryan and Maria. He sat down and gestured to another seat. "Please, sit. I am sorry that I am not able to provide more entertainment, Saraj bint-Mikhail. I was unaware I was to be a host tonight."

She adjusted her skirt and placed her hands in her lap. "There is nothing to apologize for, Tagvoryan. I'm grateful that you are not insulted by my intrusion."

"Surprised, but not offended, no. I rarely receive guests in the Palace."

His voice was quiet from disuse, she noted, not because he was bashful. He'd have to swallow and clear his throat before uttering a word—just how long had it been since he had a conversation more than two words with someone?

"I suppose the entertainers just down the hall have nothing to do with it," she said in hopes of diffusing some of the tension in the room.

He raised an eyebrow at this. "Do you take me for a man who seeks such base pleasures?"

"No," she said immediately, berating herself for unintentionally upsetting him.

He nodded, welcoming the silence that once again crept in on them. He stared at the floor, his eyebrows creased together as he waged war with his mind. Maria kept her eyes on him, knowing that she was not out of the woods just yet.

He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. "Tell me," he began, even more softly than before, "what did you think when you heard my music?"

Maria narrowed her eyes, wary if this was some sort of trap. He was affiliated with Templars and the enemy, even if he was a troubled soul. "May I be frank?"

"You need not permission to speak your mind."

Refreshing. "Then I'm sure you know that your music paralleled your very being. It's impossible for a musician to hide himself in his music. What are you really asking me, Tagvoryan?"

"Ahmed did not lie when he said you were intelligent," he mused. "I'm curious to see if you're capable of using that wit to answer your own question. But please," he hastily added in, raising his hands in light mockery, "do be frank."

Ah, so he had a viper's bite to him. She was obliged to return the venom.

"I heard the wails of a man who had everything dear and precious to him ripped from his grasp—a man who found comfort in the memories of his beloved life before he faced the wrath of reality and the sting of betrayal."

'_A wail so similar to mine,' _she thought dismally.

A small twitch in his temple told her that she'd presumed correctly. He exhaled and stared at his hands. "Very bold words," he whispered.

"Bold?" she challenged. "Or frank?"

He stared her down, his eyes flashing for just a moment.

She stood from her chair and looked down at him. "Did you honestly think that you veiled yourself so cleverly by taking up the duduk? The callouses on your hands betray you, Sarkis Tagvoryan. The despair in your eyes speaks volumes of your sorrow. There is much more to you than what meets the eye."

He looked up at her, not unnerved at all. "Then we are very similar, are we not, Saraj?"

She held her ground, her eyes narrowing at him. "How _dare _you—"

"You may leave now," he interrupted. "I am sure you did not come down here to quarrel with me. Forgive me for stoking your fire. Please give my regards to your husband."

Maria turned on her heel, not even bothering to excuse herself, and slammed the door behind her. The bang did not mute the moans coming from the other rooms, nor did it drown out the sound of Sarkis Tagvoryan's duduk.

* * *

"I do not like this," Altair finally whispered as he paced the length of Maria's room. "I had a feeling that it would be Tagvoryan. You could have been compromised, Maria; anything could have happened."

Maria leaned back against her cushions, her eyes closed. She shook her head slowly. "I never expected to meet our enemy face to face and have a conversation with them." She paused and stared at the ceiling. "Altair, there is something wrong with that man."

"What do you mean?" He sat beside her, and when she didn't respond, he placed a comforting hand on her knee. "Maria," he murmured.

She swallowed and exhaled heavily. "There is great sadness surrounding that man. It's consuming him, like a disease. And yet I felt that he did not want to pull himself from his grief, as if he was content to let it slowly kill him." She looked Altair in the eye, worry evident in her face. "What drives a person to such isolation? How can someone want to be left alone to wither?"

He pulled her to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes it's easier that way, Maria," he breathed into her hair. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Sometimes people want to wallow in their mistakes and let their world become veiled over with their grief."

"I feel sympathy for him," Maria confessed. "Is this healthy for me? He aids the Templars, and yet I cannot find one bone in my body that loathes him."

Altair smiled and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "I felt the same when I met you."

She wrapped an arm around him and nuzzled into him. "And look at us now," she breathed. "Look at us now."

* * *

One month later...

Damiel leapt to the side just in time as Mustafa's training sword sliced through the air, and he swung a fist at Mustafa. Damiel intended the blow to land on his cheek, but Mustafa was very lithe on his feet. He moved so that his fist slammed into his shoulder, and used Damiel's outstretched arm as leverage. He pulled him toward him, aiming to smack him on the back with his sword, but yelped as Damiel's foot hooked on his ankle and sent him tumbling to the ground with him.

* * *

Malik watched with interest from the top of the stairs as the boys continued their duel in the courtyard. He rested his chin in his palm, his eyes following the movements of Damiel and Mustafa. He had to hand it to Damiel: the boy had improved significantly in the last month. Even Tamam was showing reluctance when punishing the boy, as he was a hero amongst his fellow novices. They looked up to him, Rakin especially, and followed his lead of confidence in their fighting.

His swordsmanship was improving, but still needed work. Rauf spent more time with him, helping him execute maneuvers without losing balance or misjudging the length of his sword.

Damiel was a charm to Masyaf, both in the fortress and out of. He'd heard from Hildegard all about how the boy helped carry old women's goods as they continued to shop unburdened. Soon, Mustafa had joined him, and a few times even shy Rakin braved the marketplace.

But Nabil had separated himself from Damiel and his former friends. Malik always noticed the guilty look spread over the boy's face whenever he saw Damiel or heard his name in conversation. It was understandable that Nabil would feel that he didn't deserve anything from Damiel; after all, he publicly humiliated him. But Malik saw their strenuous relationship as a weakness to Masyaf. Perhaps separating the boys so that they didn't have an opportunity to even spare a glance at each other would be the best for both of them.

"Ho ho, Master Aden, did my ears hear correctly, or were you insulting a woman who isn't even here to defend herself?"

Malik's ears perked up and he turned his head to the side, subtly eavesdropping on the conversation just inside Masyaf's foyer.

Aden crossed his arms and raised his chin high. "But it is only true, Hildegard. She is alone with him, no? Then it's only a matter of time before she is in another situation that involves lack of clothing."

Hildegard snorted and swatted her hand at the man. "That's rubbish and you know it! Maria is no whore to throw herself at a man—it will be _him _that falls for her, you fool!"

"Oh?" Aden scoffed. "And are you inferring that men are mindless beasts that latch onto any woman they see—"

"—it would explain many a thing, Aden—"

"—and that we have no backbone? Hah! Hildegard, listen to yourself. That woman has been lonely for over a year now, and it's only expected that she relieves herself of that."

"Oh, Aden," Hildegard said sympathetically. She patted his cheek. "And how long have you been alone, now? Oh, dear," she mused, recoiling her hand from him. "Lord only knows how often _you _relieve yourself, hm?"

"That's hardly appropriate, Lady Hildegard!"

"Oh, _tush! _Don't you give me speeches on what's appropriate and what's not appropriate—who are you to lecture such things when _you, _Master Aden, have been hiding _this _from me?" She waved a sheet of parchment in front of his face. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and triumph as he looked away nervously.

"I-I, err... while I was making my way to Masyaf with Olivia and my sister, we passed through a town, you see, and there was a man..."

"Yes, do go on, do go on."

Aden cleared his throat. "I believe his name was 'Halim', and he seemed obsessed with the 'blonde fair maiden'. Naturally, I investigated, and I discovered that sketch in his belongings."

Halim. Hildegard felt something inside of her shrivel and die. She remembered that idiot of a man. "And so you took it upon yourself to snatch Altair's hand-drawn picture of Maria from him? Why?"

"Because it was not Halim's," Aden said in his defense. "And I thought to myself, 'Perhaps Maria wants this back?'"

"And why would you care about Maria so?"

"I don't," he laughed. "The woman is worth more trouble than she is worth. Allah help her lover! She's probably clawing at him now, forcing herself upon him—"

"Master Aden," Hildegard growled, "you will do well to stay your tongue from saying such nonsense about my friend."

"You still wish to challenge me on this, Hildegard? Very well, I will humor you. Let us take a gamble, then, shall we?"

She snorted. "I thought most Arabs frowned upon gambling?"

"In my defense, I am not most Arabs. So, what say you?"

Hildegard crossed her arms suspiciously. "And what are the terms of this 'gamble', Master Aden?"

"It is simple: if Maria remains untouched by the Assassin, then you will win our little game." Hildegard grinned at this. "If, however, she whores with him, then _I _win."

"And what are the stakes?"

"If I win," Aden said, "then you will accompany me every night to the dinner hall." Hildegard frowned. It was an odd request, yet she knew what he was up to. _Everyone _was in attendance during supper, and _everyone _would surely see her clinging to Aden's side like a leech. Normally, she sat with Malik and Rauf—

"Ahh," she chuckled with a bob of her head. "So jealousy is what drives you to be clever, Aden. Good to know. But if I win," she added in before he could say a word, "then you must allow Mustafa to court your sister." She held up a hand when he made to protest. "Is there any real harm in letting them share a meal together? Buy goods in the marketplace together? I know he's been sending her letters, Aden. In fact, I've managed to acquire some of them from Zaina.

"Mustafa is a perfectly fine young man, Aden. You should see him with the bow and arrow. I daresay he will best Olivia one day."

Aden glowered at her and quickly squared his broad shoulders. "Mustafa is an orphan who chose the life of a killer in order to survive. He is naïve, foolish, and still a little boy."

"Oh, see? You two have so much in common!"

"Hildegard," he warned, "you have no right to ask for such a reward."

"So the big and mighty Aden is afraid of a little bet? Oh, what news this will be to the novices! Who knows, my tongue might just slip during dinner tonight," she lilted while rocking on her heels. She eyed Aden, knowing that she'd conquered him.

"I am not afraid," he snarled, "for _I _will win, Hildegard." He offered her his hand, and she shook without hesitation.

"Then it's done," she stated firmly.

_'Indeed, it is done,' _Malik thought, the gears in his brain turning with mischief. He had every intention of seeing Aden _and _Hildegard lose their little bet. Thwarting those pesky novices have bored him, and now he had bigger fish to fry.

His eyes settled on the two boys in the courtyard. A smile crept over his lips. He knew exactly what to do.

* * *

"You want us to _what?" _Damiel gawked as Malik's words registered in his brain. He sat at the opposite end of the study with Mustafa next to him. Malik sighed as he once again repeated himself for the umpteenth time.

Damiel shook his head and gave Mustafa an uneasy look. Mustafa chuckled and continued to wipe the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Master Malik," he started with another chuckle, "would it not be wise to send another Brother who has more experience than us? After all, Damiel and I are only novices. Perhaps a 'Mediate would be a better choice, no?"

Malik shook his head. "I agree that our intermediates have a plethora of experience that the novices do not, but I believe you two to be our best candidates." He paused and watched as Mustafa passed his towel to Damiel to use. "Mustafa, I'm well aware of your archery skills. You have a happy talent for felling a foe from a distance. I also know that you organize every scandal involving my kibbeh and your sticky little fingers."

Mustafa blushed and chuckled.

Malik grunted in amusement. "And as for you, Damiel, you've made good progress in the fortress, and I believe it would do you both to be sent on this mission."

Damiel busied himself with drying his armpits. _Eugh, _these novices reeked to high heaven! Malik knew he should have made them bathe before approaching them.

"And you just want us to help the Master in any way, shape, or form? Aren't there already Brothers in Damascus, Master Malik?"

Malik nodded. "You are correct, Mustafa. But I've received word from the Rafiq that he needs them just to gather enough information so that he stays in tune with Damascus' atmosphere. Those boys aren't the most... productive of sorts."

"So, let me see if I have this correct, _por favor." _Damiel held his hands out, palms up. "You want us to go to Damascus—one: a boy who has been tortured for God knows how long, and the other: a chuckling novice who qualifies for this mission because he steals your precious kufta—to assist the Master in slaying Clarence?"

Mustafa shifted in his seat and coughed. "You make kibbeh-stealing sound to be such an easy feat, my friend."

Damiel rolled his eyes. "That's because it _is _easy—"

Malik made a sound from the back of his throat, interrupting their little banter. He glared at Damiel, that little culprit! "That is correct—Damiel Karkafian, if you ask that question one more time, I will glue your fingers together with honey and tie your tongue in a knot!"

Damiel clamped his mouth shut and whimpered.

Malik sighed in relief. "You will leave as soon as possible. Gather whatever you need for the ride there, and make for Damas with all haste. The Master has already been dispatched there for three months without any results. I'm hoping you boys can change that. Ah, yes, and one more thing..."

Damiel and Mustafa both listened intently.

Malik's nose wrinkled and he waved the boys away. "Bathe yourselves before Masyaf crumbles just from your stench alone!"

Damiel frowned and crossed his arms in embarrassment, while Mustafa had the decency sniff an armpit and to chuckle lightheartedly.

* * *

Mustafa double-checked his saddlebag, making sure everything was in its proper place. Satisfied, he grinned, and, when making sure no one was around, chuckled. He was rather excited for this mission. Usually he was given the task of courier boy whenever it was too risky to send word by pigeon.

He secured his bags on the saddle, patting the horse's neck and back in reassurance. The beast whinnied softly and nudged him with its nose.

Just then Damiel came clambering along, followed by a skittish Rakin.

"But do you _have _to go? And what about me? T-Tamam will surely see this as an opportunity to berate me," he sniffed. Damiel sighed and gripped the boy's shoulder.

"_Oyé, _don't fret, Rakin. We'll be back before you know it! And if Tamam pesters you, go to Rauf. He'll set him straight for you, don't you worry."

Rakin nodded and sniffled again. He bowed his head and it seemed as if his entire body was caving in on itself. His knees shaking and his shoulders heaving, he fell to the ground, unable to keep his tears and cries away.

"But what if something _happens?" _he sniffled. "What if you two are _killed?" _

"Hey, hey, hey," Damiel whispered. He knelt in front of the boy and lifted his chin up. "We'll come back, Rakin, I promise you that!"

Rakin rubbed his nose and shook his head. "No, you won't. That's what _baba _said to me before he left, and he never came back."

Something in Damiel's eyes changed, and he wrapped his arms around Rakin. His small frame shook fiercely in his arms before he buried his face in Damiel's chest and continued to sob. "Your _pap__á_ probably wanted to come back to you, Rakin. How could he not? He has a very strong, brave son. Mustafa and I will come back, Rakin. You like walnuts, yes? We'll bring you back an entire bag of them, Rakin, just you wait and see."

Rakin pulled away and looked up into Damiel's eyes, finding comfort in the sincerity there. "Y-you really mean that?"

Damiel smiled and gave a firm nod. "Of course I do, Rakin. Although, Mustafa and I might have to help you eat all of them."

Mustafa chuckled. "Well, I _do _like walnuts," he mumbled. Rakin giggled before letting Damiel help him to his feet. Mustafa smiled and turned his head away from his friends as something caught his eye.

He felt his heart do a little leap at the sight of her. He sighed and gave a small wave. Damiel and Rakin looked to see what caught his attention.

Damiel smirked. "Afraid that's as close as you'll be to her, Mustafa, before Aden runs you out. Trust me, I know."

Mustafa exhaled and slouched his shoulders. "I only wish I could see her more often. It's a shame how she keeps herself hidden from the world. Almost like a princess in a tower," he mused.

Damiel laughed. "There isn't anything regal about Zaina." He didn't notice Mustafa frown.

Rakin quietly joined them and toed the ground. "Mustafa's sweet on her, Damiel," he murmured.

"Eh?" Damiel whirled his head to Mustafa. He never told Mustafa of his small infatuation with Zaina. How could he? Word would spread like wildfire and Aden would push him off the mountain.

Mustafa gave a sad smile. "It's true. But who am I trying to fool? I'm just a lowly novice, and she already has a family." He hung his head, but then brought his spirits back up with a chuckle. "Nevermind me. Damascus awaits."

* * *

Damiel didn't bring Zaina up in conversation during their ride to Damascus. He knew that Aden despised him with every fiber of his being and that Zaina never saw him as more than an ally. He was content to step aside and let Mustafa try to woo her.

"So, what's Rakin's story?"

Mustafa looked over at him. "He grew up without parents. Well, he never knew his mother, and his father left him at a very young age. His abusive uncle took him in after that, and after deeming Rakin useless and just another mouth to feed, he dumped him on Masyaf's border. Rakin only had eight summers on him when the Hashshashin took him in."

"Is his father alive?"

Mustafa shrugged and urged his mount into a faster pace. "Who can say for sure?"

* * *

Altair let himself into Maria's room. He promptly shut the door behind him and strode over to the window.

She looked up from her cushions, curious as to why he felt the need to barge in on her privacy.

"We must make haste, Maria," he said at last.

"And what is the rush, Altair?" she asked while stretching her arms and legs out.

He walked over to her and pulled her to her feet. She hissed and smacked his hands off of her. Before she could chew his ear off, he said, "Clarence will be visiting the Umayyad in just two more bells. He's planning some sort of statement to show the people that he is a man not only open to the Bible, but also to the Koran."

Maria placed her hands on her hips. "Another Templar attempt to make an alliance with Muslims? I remember very clearly how their last attempt played out."

Altair smiled as he, too, remembered that event quite well. "Whatever he is planning, we must be prepared."

"Will we be under the guises of Ghalib and Saraj still?"

"No, Maria, and that is the tricky part."

* * *

Butrus silently fumed behind his counter, watching those two noisy novices with beady eyes and a flushed face. He watched as how they completely disorganized his already unorganized mess. Oh, this could not continue any longer! How dare they seek refuge in _his _sty and then completely destroy it!

"Alright, you two," he growled through gritted teeth. "I am putting my foot down right here and now! Remove your belongings from my tables and kindly place them somewhere else!"

Damiel and Mustafa shared a blank look before shrugging and continuing with their conversation. Butrus felt his temper skyrocket, and he wouldn't be surprised if steam was shooting out of his ears and nostrils.

"By order of Rafiq Butrus," he declared, "I command you to listen to me!"

Damiel blinked and almost choked on his breadloaf. "_¿Perdón?__ " _he asked in wonder. He swallowed his bread and stood from the cushions. "Did I hear correctly?"

Butrus narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You heard me—"

"Your name is _butt rust?" _Damiel's bread fell out of his mouth as his jaw went slack. "Did your mama not like you or something, friend?"

Mustafa joined him. "Oh, poor Butrus. I never noticed that about your name before—nicely done, Damiel," he chuckled.

Butrus' shoulders shook and his eyebrows almost touched his hairline. He was livid! "No, no, _no! _My name is _Butrus, _not—"

"Butt rust, or butt rest?" Damiel murmured to Mustafa. The other boy shrugged. "Is it even possible for a butt to rust? Maybe Hildegard knows! We'll have to ask her when we return to Masyaf."

Butrus blanched as he recognized the name. According to his novices, Hildegard was a woman who had established a gossip committee of some sort in Masyaf. Whatever news the woman heard—be it of importance or regarding a new pair of slippers—the whole of the Brotherhood was aware of it in hours.

Abbas had complained often to him, saying that a goat who bleats too much attracts unwanted attention.

And now the current condition of his hiny was to be circulated amongst those blabbing novices! Not that his hiny was in any condition, really, but—_ohhh!_

"Enough of your little chitchat!" Butrus warned. Damiel still seemed to be in deep thought while Mustafa looked back and forth between them with that silly little grin on his face. Butrus, deeming the situation to be futile, stalked away from them.

They followed him. Damiel placed a hand on his shoulder. "I've never heard of the condition before, but it must be serious! Are you alright?"

Butrus looked at the boy, finding poorly contained laughter behind his eyes. There was only one solution to deal with these novices, and only rarely did he ever have to resort to it. Turning on his heel, he rummaged through his pantry.

Once he found what he was looking for, he chased after the novices, swatting at their heels with a broom until they climbed up and out of his Bureau.

* * *

Translations:

**Arabic**:

_Yalla: _Come on/let's go/hurry up

_Shêtân: _Satan/Devil

_sharmuta: _whore/prostitute

_baba: _dad

**Armenian**:

_mikti: _Armenian wild cucumbers

_Voghdzuyin: _Hello (formal) **_Parév _is informal (just a Fun Fact)

**Spanish**:

_por favor: _please

_Oyé: _Hey

_pap__á: _dad

_¿Perdón?: _Pardon?

**A/N: Yes, Loving Hate is still alive. No, I am not giving up the story. Yes, it took a long time for me to update. Life's a bitch, what can I say? And I needed some inspiration. Now, as I eat my Armenian pickles and take sips from my ayran, I have a few things to say. One: this chapter will be divided into 2 parts. I planned on making it one chapter, but then it seemed as if I was crowding too much into one chapter, and I felt uncomfortable with it. Two: while I appreciate people staying in touch with my story, please do not send me messages asking me when I'm going to update or why I haven't update. I'm not talking about innocent messages where people just want to know if I'm still alive and working with Loving Hate; I mean the messages where people are rude, berate me for not updating, and then promptly demand me to update. Excuse me? I have a life of my own, and I have absolutely no qualms about postponing a chapter for another month or two. So please, take my life into consideration before you start treating me like a two year old. Thanks.**

**Anyways, now that that rant's over and done with, I feel confident with this chapter. We learned a bit about some characters, like Tagvoryan and Rakin. I really like Tagvoryan's character, and I'm hoping to 'wow' people with his backstory.**


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